Force Unleashed: Trial Of Self
by Cindrollic
Summary: In an adaptation of the first level of the DLC "Ultimate Sith Edition", Starkiller is haunted with questions by what he found on Kashyyyk. And there is only one place to find answers: The Jedi Temple. But there will be a price to pay for everything...
1. Chapter 1

Long ago, it was known as the heart of the Old Republic. But after a thousand years of peace, it has now become the center of the Galactic Empire. A haven for those willing to comply with this new order, a prison for everyone else. And on Corusant, the planet in which natural life could no longer exist on its own, the day was slowly dying. The orbital mirrors surrounding the capital began to turn to their side, giving the illusion of a stunning sunset. Nightfall would not be far behind.

All was going according to plan.

The skylanes were congested on this particular day; vehicles glided along the their paths in order, each gleaming with the radiant auburn light and reflecting it off onto the others ships and casting long, dark shadows across the fronts of the buildings they passed. Most faded into the background of moderate life, bearing no more attention then a passing glance, but one ship stood out among them for both its design and the beings onboard guiding her. This skyline moved in conjunction with the lane beside them going the opposite way and the two below that mirrored them. The ship followed this path as well, for a time, at least. The craft banked to the right, slipping nimbly through the traffic, weaving through gaps like a shadow in the back of everyone's minds, until it emerged out of the lane and glided away without notice. Any ship doing this should have had alarms going off in bases spread throughout the sector, but not with this ship, not with the experimental cloaking device it held within, and so the scanners remained dubious to its presence.

The alien craft approached the dome of the Senate building where a new law that enforced security in residential districts was currently being voted on without a whisper. That law would be passed before the night fall. But that didn't matter, not to them. The mission came first. Slowly, the _Rouge Shadow_'s, twin blade-like front dipped up and the ship soared high over the building and moments later was out of that sector and flying head first into another that few dared to venture.

The amber light bounced off the leveled clearing where buildings once clustered. There were cracks in the flat and metal surface and if one peered close enough they could make out the shapes of ships and vehicles floating like insects skittering in the darkness of their hole. The only remaining structure in the sector—their destination—stood out in the center of the desolation.

But the Jedi Temple was barely standing, as the material that created its walls seemed to be decaying. The reverence that the structure once held had been whisked away like a flame in the wind with the fall of it's occupants so many years ago. The Jedi Knights—the protectors of the Republic who were reduced to almost nothing in a single day much like this; they had gone from being the protectors to the hunted. The place itself felt muted, frozen in time as the world moved on around it. It left a hallow gap in the Force, where once there was the warmth of light and tranquility of peace. But when you searched deeply enough, you could still find a flicker of something within, like a small fire that still burned within hollow center of the crypt.

Almost level with the tops of the five spires that stuck out high, the _Rouge Shadow _lurched to a halt barely inside the parameter of the Temple.

In the cockpit, the tension eased a little as both Juno, the pilot, and the drunken and blinded former Jedi Kota let out a soft sigh of relief and sunk into their seats, nerves unwinding somewhat after days of nerve rattling travel. But just beyond them, leaning against the wall beside the open hatchway of the cockpit, the shadowy figure of Starkiller stared intently across the relatively small space from him at the heavy shadow within an archway, lost in his own world and not allowing the stop to unravel the tension that had been building in him since they embarked from Kashyyyk, and continued to stand in silence.

He felt the vibrations in the soles of his feet, emanating from the cloaking device and distantly heard the rattle of its casing. They had pushed it to its limits, and despite Juno's protests, he ordered to keep it running. He hated having to go against her, but he wouldn't risk detection. It could have broken down at any moment, as everyone onboard but Starkiller feared it would, and could still give out, and replacing the unstable Stygium crystal at its core would be impossible, even for them, but it had held. Still, it only added another problem and another worry to this small crew.

Starkiller had barely spoken since they left the Wookie home world, and most of it had been when he and Kota arguing after he'd returned to the ship and a little with Juno (mostly about the ship) and PROXY. Through the argument, though, he had learned that Bail Organa, the senator of Alderaan, had gone missing in search of Shaak Ti, the Jedi Starkiller had fought just before he was betrayed—

His stomach seared in pain from the memory and his hand clasped over the spot where now there was no scar, and realizing this, lowered it.

-by Vader on his command bridge. His daughter, Leia, was being held by the Empire, a ploy to keep the senator in line from speaking out against the Emperor. But it was those rebellious words, his unbreakable passion and commitment that had earned such high respect for him in the eyes of both civilians and some of his fellow senators. So he had taken the mission upon himself; reaching the surface through blockade and in addition to saving the princess, liberated the tribe of Wookies being held.

Then there was the _other _thing he foundon the surface . . .

With an effort, he pushed down that thought and the image that it brought with below his consciousness. It was why he hadn't set course for Felecia; it was his reason for returning to the former home of the Jedi Order for a third and what he hoped to be a final time, but thinking about it distracted him, and he couldn't allow that. Not now.

Starkiller began walking away from the cockpit and toward the archway. As he did, he could make out the details of heavy-set grey door and short stretch of floor leading to it within archway. And as he drew closer, he could see the faint light shining on the wall within the archway: a melding of red, green, and white, but could not see the panel yet. He reached down with his right hand and unclipped the handle of his lightsaber from his belt without breaking stride. The design was simplistic, but it wasn't his own. It was Kota's, and it was the weapon he took after watching the general spiral through Nar Shaddaa's atmosphere and vanish. The weapon had felt clumsy in his hand ever since he'd gotten it six months ago; every time he looked at its emerald blade, he felt a twinge of guilt in using it, especially with Kota aiding—if his drunken slurs and falling unconscious in the cargo hold could be called helping—his quest. But after coming across a new lightsaber gem on Kashyyyk and installing it, replacing the green blade with a bright blue that resembled a clear sky, it had begun to actually feel like _his._ Starkiller had yet to practice with against living opponents, but that would change. He felt a bond to this crystal and knew why that was so; another reason for coming here.

The same kind of comfort, however, could not be said of his attire.

He'd opted for the temporary change as he'd done on Kashyyyk, both for the same reasons. But this felt utterly alien to him. The white fabric ruffled against the second-skin like suite beneath it, but he knew that wasn't his problem with it. He knew it wasn't the layers. It wasn't because they wrapped tightly around his body. No, it was how he appeared once it was all put together.

He almost looked like a Jedi.

_Almost._

But that was the point. If he was caught or spotted, he wanted to throw off any trace of his ties to his dark master. To help this, he kept his look in constant flux. And removed every contact and trace of Vader from the _Rouge Shadow_'s databases, leaving only PROXY as a means of communication to his master. Even when he was in this sort of state, tightly focused on his goal and shutting out those he considered his friends, he never hesitated to keep up his façade to ensure the Emperor remained under the illusion that he was dead, killed by Vader's own hand in cold blood. And that arrogance would prove to be his undoing, Starkiller would see to that.

He stopped in the arch and hit the glowing buttons on this side of it with the back of his right hand. They flashed a deep red on and off continuously in warning, but obeyed none the less. A small _hiss_ of pressurized air came from in front of him and Starkiller was ready for what came next. The door and floor suddenly broke away from each other by a few centimeters, amber light shining through the crack, and buffeting him with icy air, throwing the tails of his robes back and ruffling his trousers. He squinted his eyes almost to a close against the wind, ignoring the prickles of icy pain stabbing throughout his face and hands, and watched the floor and door grow further apart.

They drew past the halfway point and he resumed walking, ducking down and stepping outside. The surge of light was blinding, but he squinted through it until his eyes adjusted. He continued down the ramp that was previously the floor and shifted his weight as it continued to fall. He reached the edge and it stopped. He gazed at the ziggurat that was the Jedi Temple, taking its scope from this new angle. He sometimes forgot about its immensity. They were against the sun, though, so most of what he saw was shadows so deep it looked like he was staring into the vastness of space, and in white robes, he could have been a single star. The roar of the wind was deafening.

So loud that he did not hear the metallic footsteps from behind, and felt nothing in the Force.

"Master," Starkiller craned his neck back, recognizing the voice the second it was heard. He found PROXY standing where the door once was, partly inside and partly out. The droid with thin limbs that had been with Starkiller for as long as he could remember was gripping the side of the wall in a very human way. Seeing this, in spite of the situation, warmed Starkiller's heart, and almost made him forget that his friend's secondary programming was to kill him. "Are you sure about this? We have already risked coming here twice before. Someone is bound to make a connection. Why don't we leave the planet and resume our mission . . ."

Starkiller narrowed his gaze on the droid, and having seen this expression countless times, let his words trail off. One of PROXY's metal hands came up and his head nudged with it, but whatever he was going to propose he apparently decided was futile on his own. Once his master made up his mind, it was difficult to sway it. The hand dropped and PROXY turned and headed back inside, muttering something indistinguishable and leaving the doorway open.

Starkiller sympathized with his friend, and even a small part inside of him considered abandoning this detour and plot course for Felecia, but he couldn't. He would try to talk to PROXY later, after he was done and they were in orbit. Starkiller watched his friend until he was out of his sight, then turned his attention back to the openness.

His light would gone soon, but that was fine. There wasn't much where he was going, and he didn't intend to be outside for much longer.

And so, with the colossal structure of the decaying Jedi Temple standing uncomfortably close, Starkiller shifted his weight forward, and fell.

The air buffeted his body with twice the intensity from before and he kept his limbs close to keep dragging and his body tensed immediately. The tails of his robes flapped wildly around his boots as if to ensnare them. The warm rays of day did nothing to ease the needles of ice stabbing into his face, but his expression remained clam and eyes shut against the amber light and cold wind that deafened him to the sounds of the world. His sight and hearing both were useless to him right now. Some would have called him mad. He knew Juno had thought this during their journey here and probably even at this moment in time, as she had tried and failed in convincing him out of this. And that small part of him pined to agree with her, to tell her to plot the fastest possible course to Felecia and leave this behind him, but didn't. Couldn't. His heart sank with the thought and her pained look only intensified it, but he had to know. And this was the only place in the galaxy he could imagine having answers.

But he wasn't blind. Not at all.

He had the Force.

He thought for a second that he may have fallen _too _close to the Temple, but then he plunged into the structure's immense shadow; a speck of an iota in contrast to its size, and continued downward into the dark crevasse only a few feet from the Temple's base. He gripped the lightsaber in his hand, as if to make sure it was still there. The temperature dropped and he felt the cold seep through his layers, and his eyes squinted open against the wind into the darkness. He saw the wall of the Temple and the wall of the abandoned living spaces opposite it and felt the almost overwhelming enormity of it all as it whisked past him in a blur. The speck below that was his target grew steadily larger with each second and Starkiller spun himself into alignment with it.

As he did, Starkiller wondered what he should do once he reached the platform. Bloodshed would happen; there was no doubt in his mind about that. He thought he could go in, guns—or lightsaber—blazing and take them out quickly, but dismissed it. He wanted to try and slip in more discreetly then he had in his previous trips. So he had to do this quietly, and take them out as fast as possible before they could get word out.

_Unless they already have. _

Starkiller reached out into the spectrum of the Force and felt the presences emanating from his target, and felt the dull attention coming from each. And before long, he began to see the tops of the same, faceless Stormtroopers he'd fought on planet to planet, all slowly walking up and down the simple platform. Starkiller reached deeper, trying to find ay intent or emotion that they were burring to keep him from sensing they had spotted him—this was his third time coming to the Jedi Temple in less then a year, so the deceit wouldn't surprise him—but found nothing. Good. He saw that, in this deep in the shadows, their pristine white armor was a muted grey and assumed his own attire appeared like that, which is probably the only reason they hadn't notice him.

But they would.

He closed in.

Trooper's heads inclined up, thinking they saw something in the corner of their eye—

Starkiller landed in a crouch dead center on the platform amid a group of Stormtroopers; a shadow in the back of their minds, and using the Force to cushion his landing. It was silent, a faint vibration through the suspended floor being the only sound he made. For a second, this did not register with the troopers. Too bad.

He thumbed his lightsaber to life, the bright blue blade igniting with its distinctive _snap-hiss_, then stuck his arms out and whipped his body around. Plasma seared through armor and bone. Troopers were sent flying upward by an unseen force, limbs flailing as they spun past the edge and fell into the crevasse, screaming. Starkiller completed his spin, and the platform was now barren. The same could not be said, however, about the walkway connecting it to the base of the temple.

And his second was gone.

Red energy spat at him all at once and Starkiller steadied his footing and whipped his lightsaber, a bright beacon in the darkness, to catch them. The bolts ricocheted off the blade and some returned to their sender while others went wild. Starkiller eased himself into the flow of combat, using the Force to guide his hand and his blade became a blur; a shield of light that was as much as his to command as the Force.

On the crowded walkway that lead to a massive pair of doors and equally massive statues standing on the sides, the troopers formed up more tightly, some dropping to one knee to let the one behind them get a clear shot. There was less space between the bolts and soon it became a continuously focused beam of red death. Even with the Force under his command, Starkiller began backing up under the onslaught, the strength of it surprising him. He sent many of them back, but each time one fell, another blaster nozzle appeared in the gap, firing.

Suddenly, he was starting to wish he'd heeded Juno's advise.

This was far from his first time in this kind of situation. Alone. Fending for his life. Armed only with his lightsaber. And he had made it out of it every time. But something was wrong.

His lightsaber was slowing by a fraction of a second. The black hole of power he drew from for most of his life felt like its gaping maw was closing on itself. His breathing was growing heavy, labored. He kept falling back. His heart rate grew and body tensed beneath the force it, and he could feel the shaking beginning to develop in his limbs. But he couldn't panic. If he did, he would die. His legs would give out, or his lightsaber wouldn't intercept a laser and all would be over. Yet his mind was in a frenzy, frantically trying to figure out what was happening. The blizzard of shots grew thicker and he hefted his blade to make up for it, gritting his teeth. He needed to solve this problem, and solve it _now. _

But the more he thought about it, the farther away he could feel the answer slip from him. And when it did, a haze of red blanketed Starkiller's brain, shrouding the answer further. It was a cycle that was getting him nowhere, except beaten back . . . and back . . . and back, until the back of his heel stopped cold against something.

Starkiller didn't have to look down. He knew he had reached the edge of the platform.

End of the line.

Starkiller caught a flicker of movement between the cracks of laser and his saber, rising over the walkway of troopers from behind, and a second later the pressurized roar of sputtering flame caught up with the motion. He had heard that sound before, echoed in the forests of Kashyyyk more times then he cared for. It droned on, feeling like a vibration beneath his skin and rustling the kilometer-high tree's around him; crunching under his boot; and he remembered when the Jet Troopers would burst out from the underbrush or swung around from the massive shadow of the tree's trunk, without warning, just as this one had. Unable to tear his gaze from the bolts, Starkiller followed the trooper climb further upward with the Force acting as a second pair of eyes, the trooper standing out in his mind like a bright pinprick.

Danger sense prickled coldly up his spine and lasers spat out from above. Starkiller shifted his stance by a centimeter, putting the bottom of his heel atop the edge, and they bounced harmlessly off the aqua blade.

The pinprick stopped against the wall and for the moment, the bolts from above ceased. Starkiller was relieved of this, but kept his guard against the troopers on the walkway. The pinprick darted to the right and began to swing around. He could feel the intent from it and the prickling in his spine was beginning to gather. If that trooper got behind him and got a clear shot—

Starkiller couldn't allow that.

Starkiller reached out into the infinite nebulae of the Force seemingly closing itself and _ripped _the black hole open, until the power was surging back in overwhelming mass. It flowed into him, filling him; completing him. His nerves unwound and His efforts redoubled, and he caught every bolt that came to him, and sent it back to the trooper unfortunate enough to have fired it in the first place. In seconds, the concentrated beam of laser fire had been reduced to a couple of discharged red energy bolts. It took almost no effort in his heightened state to deflect them, and when they were gone, the walkway and platform were silent.

Save for the sound of pressurized flame.

The Apprentice lowered himself into a crouch, then focused on the burning power of the Dark side. His body seared with a wild fire that burned through his inner most soul. He everything opened up to him; the dread emanating from the surviving troopers on the walkway; and the confusion of the Jet Trooper looming in place high above the crevasse. Starkiller basked in this as he always had, leaving the problems and burdens of the situation behind him. Here, the temple no longer mattered. The troopers no longer mattered. His doubt about his power was a distant memory that he was willing to give up. They were only a means to an end that felt like was no longer in sight. And for that split-second, his mission—_both _of them—didn't matter to him. Not here. Not now. For he was strong. His authority could not be denied. No being could stop him. Not Vader; nor his emperor. He was unstoppable. A force of nature.

But, in spite of this, Starkiller dragged himself out of that beautiful place enough to bring him back to the string of mundane events that was reality.

It all came flooding back to him at once and he twisted around to the Jet trooper, still where he had left him. He gathered the Force into the soles of his feet, and leapt toward the trooper.

When he was close enough, Starkiller saw the details of the trooper: the bulkier armor that still harkened back to the stormtrooper design; the twin trails of smoke traveling downward from the troopers back; and the plasteel panel sticking out above the eyes like a cap.

The trooper had a blaster, but it wasn't pointed at Starkiller, instead he was balancing it while pressing a finger hard against one of the buttons on his suite's forearm. The button glowed green under his finger. He didn't seem to have noticed Starkiller had jumped, by the even nature of his voice as he spoke into the forearm.

"Repeat: Backup required immediately at sect—" He saw Starkiller. "_BACKUP! GET BACKUP NOW!_"

Starkiller landed squarely on the trooper's shoulders. He wasted no time, slicing the tip of his lightsaber cleanly through the panels of plasteel on the troopers and cutting through the jets that lay beneath. The pressurized sound was enveloped by an ear-splitting screech, the same kind Starkiller had heard on echo through Kashyyyk's forest floor. And knowing what would come next, Starkiller threw himself back just in time for the Jet trooper to be lost ball of bright fire and bits of melted plasteel rained down from the cloud of smoke.

The explosion carried Starkiller some of the way and the Force brought him the rest, as he landed on the _other _side of the walkway, in front of the two massive doors veiled in a haze of darkness that he spared no second thought about.

What he saw next brought a smile to his lips.

The last eight remaining Stormtroopers had apparently realized that without their numbers or the Jet trooper, they couldn't contend with Starkiller and resorted to falling back at full speed to the landing platform. They were shoulder to shoulder; tripping over the body's of their fallen allies at their feet, and glancing over their shoulders to see if the monster was coming at them, all of this in order to get away from _him. _

_As they should_, Starkiller mused as he calmly began striding toward the troopers.

But when the last of them stumbled onto the platform, a wall of violet energy shot up in front of the Apprentice, spreading from one end of the walkway to the other, stopping him in his tracks. Two more shot up behind it, smaller then the one before him and angled in a way that left only a two foot gap between them. And from there, the rest fell into place. Walls jettisoned from the ground one after another across the walkway and all around the rim and within the platform itself, surrounding the troopers in shimmering purple light.

Starkiller cocked an eyebrow to this, examining the shield. He raised his lightsaber and sliced the blade against the field. It flared brightly at the contact point and rippled softly on the surface, like water when a stone is thrown, then calmed and was once again stood still, like nothing had happened. He closed down the saber, but kept it in hand.

This precaution was nothing more then a burden that he had to get around. Surely they just saw him leap across a chasm and back without trouble? Did they think _these _of all things would actually _stop _him? Starkiller would teach them the fatal error of their mistake. The shields, while able to deflect and absorb the high energy of a lightsaber strike, also threw off a soft yet eerie glow that stood out in this muted darkness as much as Starkiller's lightsaber did was just bright enough to make out the outline of the towering figure looming in the shadows behind Starkiller.

Starkiller bent his knees and lowered himself, gathering the Force. The figure inched closer without a sound. Starkiller launched himself up—

But a pair of dark metallic arms shot out from the darkness and caught him out of the air with unnatural force and pulled him back. His head hit cold metal hard and bright pain exploded in his cranium, and gripped his upper body tighter then he could break free from. But when his head collided, a hollow pang echoed from within, and as he strained to tear through the inviting and comfortable stillness of falling unconscious, he heard the tumbling of gears and cries of servos within.

With chilling surety, Starkiller knew what was crushing him.

He fell forward, and his feet almost touched the ground, but was upright again instantly, the droid having to step forward to balance the extra weight. They were known as the Purge Troopers, a mechanical project that many thought was brought on after the Clone War; a droid that was humanoid in its shape but towered almost double the height of one built out Duranium armor, some even laced with cortosis, designed to hunt and combat Force-sensitive's with its astonishing strength; repulser's in its feet that allowed it to glide along any surface unheard, and whatever other weapons it hid beneath the panels its metal body.

Starkiller had heard of these droids from his master, and hearing of their effectiveness, tried to avoid a confrontation with one and had only come across a few and always at long range.

The pressure against him built and suddenly his body felt fragile. He could almost see his ribs flexing inward, _pushing _against his intestines. He could image his chest caving into his heart if this continued. But the more the Purge Trooper crushed him against its chest, the more he felt his consciousness begin to slip to that cold, comforting embrace. A place where his troubles and pain would end.

No. He wouldn't allow it to happen. Not here, not like this. He shut his eyes just as his lightsaber slipped from his numb fingers. and channeled the black fury within him. Blue/Violet lightning cascaded from his hand, igniting the dead nerves like fire and traveled up his arms and all around his body, until he was encased in his own power.

The Purge Trooper stumbled, but caught its footing. A synthesized cry that rattled Starkiller's bending bones shrilled from the droids helmet. Starkiller pushed harder, and the droid lost its grip on him for an instant, and Starkiller used it. The power in him erupted in a wave that wrenched the Trooper's arms off him and he landed in a roll—painfully—and spun back around, weaponless. But the droid had already recovered and was charging at the Apprentice with a energy blade ejecting from its raised hand—pointed at him.

The droid lunged, and Starkiller could only side-step to avoid it, putting him at the edge of the walkway that now felt very narrow. He watched the blade cut where he was, and saw exposed servos in a crack between the Duranium plates.

Something he knew was susceptible to a lightsaber.

A weakness.

He narrowed his sight onto those servos.

Starkiller extended his hand out and called his weapon lying at the Purge troopers feet. The aqua blade ignited in the air and sliced precisely between the plates before clasping into his palm. The severed forearm landed loudly on the metallic surface of the walkway and the energy blade flickered out, but the Trooper seemed unfazed. It brought its other hand around, now clenched as a fist, and still emitting the synthesized cry. And again, Starkiller side-stepped and let it pass on by, then severed it as he had the first.

He turned to the droid, and found a number of cracks and openings.

In its knee's.

And its waist.

And its neck.

The Purge Trooper fell to its shaking knee's, then collapsed front first and the pieces clattered against the durasteel deck, edges still white-hot. The helmet rolled on its side with loose gears and wire flipping continuously out the bottom, spraying liquid bits from its ends until it came to a stop against his boot. He closed down his lightsaber.

Starkiller looked at the head with an expression etched from stone. His nostrils flared as he breathed in the air stained with ozone. Slowly, the fire burning deep inside dimmed and his mind cleared. He turned, smoke still trailing off his body from the lightning.

Peering into the violet energy was like trying to peer through a dozen bodies of water all at once, and he could barely make out the disjointed outlines of the stormtroopers. But since he couldn't see them, they probably couldn't see him, or see that their last resort was just cut to ribbons. He felt no sense of loss from them: Just a curiosity attempting to override a fleeting hope that was just desperately trying to balance itself atop a sense of dread shared between them. But so long as these shields were up, they would never know. Not until it was too late to save them.

Or would they?

Starkiller grasped the helmet at his feet and it levitated to chest height. His mind flashed to the beam of concentrated fire coming at him, and the helmet began to spin in place. Faster. The wires, now cold and charred, whipped around in a blur. All he needed to do is simply send them the message. The floating helmet launched high above the shimmering shields, pausing in the air, and a couple of red blaster bolts shot up from the maze of light. They connected, throwing it off its course, but still disappeared into the shields, just as Starkiller wanted.

Eight senses of hope shattered instantly.

Swallowed whole by the deep dread. It flowed like a dark, rushing river in the Force, and the Apprentice took it all in, greedily, savoring this moment, and allowed it to fill him.

Starkiller thumbed his saber back to life. Then he narrowed his sight on the gap between the wall and the shield, and gathering his energy, chucked his lightsaber. His mind caught it before the fail-safe function could activate and shut down, and the saber shot through the gap, gaining speed as it whipped around, the blade shining through the gloom, and disappeared behind the view of the shields. But Starkiller saw where it was going just fine. The lightsaber cut through the bleak shadow of the platform and stopped abruptly beneath it, blade and tip pointed up.

The beam of aqua energy stabbed precisely into the thick plating, burning hot enough to make the metal screech. Then, as Starkiller willed, the saber began dragging itself through the underbelly of where the walkway met the landing platform. Hot bits of metal rained. The platform dipped, though it was too minute for anyone to notice. Shields between he and troopers winked out of the world as the lightsaber passed one of the power cables buried inside the bridge that fed from the generator under Starkiller's feet. Along the surface the saber's journey was marked by a black, sizzling stain on the floor.

He knew he burned the blade all the way through, but that would be too easy for _them_. Another cable was cut, and the shields around the troopers disappeared. They didn't have long to figure out how it happened, and they were only able to interoperate one fact for sure: if you were on the other side of the black line, you didn't have much longer to live.

They would have opened fire, but the shields on the walkway were still active, unaffected by the saber's damage like nothing was happening. And through them, they could see the shadow of a man standing on the other side of them, almost mocking.

Their shields were now _his _shields. And their safe haven would soon be their hell.

The platform began vibrating harshly, and the survivor's flinched in unison. The end was near. And there was nothing they could do.

The lightsaber, burning faster through the metal, passed through the final cord. The shields around the edge of the platform were gone.

But before it reached the other end of the underbelly, which would complete the hideous scar, the lightsaber froze and whipped out of the track it made and spun back up and around to the other end of the walkway. The blue fire spat out of existence and the handle flew through the gap opposite the one it left through and smacked into Starkiller's waiting hand.

He could only make out blurs and shapes through the shields, so Starkiller only listened as the tension of the walkway gave.

It is said that when you're about to die, you life flashes before of your eyes. Some believe it, some don't. But this happens to a small group of eight Stormtroopers who stand in the center of a platform that is about to give out. In a single, glorious instant, they are reminded of the joys they felt in childhood. The sorrow, love and loss that came later with adulthood. If they have spouses, or children, they think of them. If they have loved ones, they think of them. If there is anything good in their life, no matter how fleeting, they latch onto it. And for that second, the galaxy stops moving. They are safe, in the company of those they think about.

But that second passes agonizingly too soon. They want it to last forever, but it is too late. It's gone. And they haven't completed the contract.

They still need to die.

The platform lurched suddenly, and a trooper was thrown off his feet and his back armor scrapes against the slanted floor as he slides, flailing, then hits the edge and tumbles into the seemingly infinite crevasse.

The others fought for balance, but were loosing. Another section of the platform at the cut point gave out and it lurched again, spilling two more over. The end where the saber started separated, and now the platform began to sway. Muted white figures stood frozen. The angled platform buckled, and another few inches separate from the walkway, taking three more troopers with it. It swayed faster and farther from side to side. As it did, another inch was lost. The end of the bridge droops down, only a bit. Further it swayed. Another trooper was thrown, bumping the floor and tumbling into darkness.

Leaving just two.

One was close to the top and the other having been able to stay in the center. The one close to the top risked it and leaps with all he had, and actually grabs the charred edge, which has, like the end of the bridge has bent and twisted, with both hands. He knows it was cut by a lightsaber—that damn energy sword that damn Jedi kept blocking them with—but assumed that with the colder climate down here in the shadows, and since he never _saw _the saber poke through the metal, he was safe. But he doesn't know that a lightsaber doesn't need to cut all the way through to leave the metal hot, and though it has cooled, it was not enough. It burns through the black glove like it wasn't there. It torches his skin, but he continues to grasp the edge. Sensitive muscle is reduced to char, but still his grip holds. But when it reached the bone, he can hold out no longer, and lets go.

He skid along the swaying floor, smoke trailing up his ruined fingers.

The other trooper, however, was miraculously standing, and has his arms out to fight the sway. He's looking at his feet. He dose not see the second trooper until he is running through his legs. He's sent flying while the other raced after his buddy's below. The last hits the floor with his chest, denting the breast-plate of his armor and he goes over the edge. But against reason, he grabs the raised edge that everyone else couldn't with a grip that wouldn't be broken. The platform swayed further then it ever had, and the last of the burned cut separated from the walkway.

Leaving it dangling on the sliver of space the Jedi had left untouched.

He stares at the top, unable to see the sliver twisting. His heart stops. For a moment, no sound came from him, the platform, or the universe itself.

Then the sliver snapped.

He screamed, but it is small and lost as he and the platform he still holds onto spin and tumble down into the deep abyss, falling forever until it—and he met a final end.

And after that, there is only silence.

The floor bumped beneath Starkiller's heel, and he stood still as stone until he heard a crash echo far in the distance below.

Then he blinked.

Slowly, he inhaled the air that stank with ozone and allowed himself this moment. _His _moment. The quiet mummer of the trillions of lives above didn't reach his ears. The shields on the walkway remained active, and though they made no sound heard by sentients, Starkiller felt a hum resonating from them seep into his bones. He extended his will and found the power supply under him and flipped the kill switch inside. The violet energy walls faded, and the hum went with them. Now the only thing he heard was the sound of his even breathing, and the steady beat of his heart beating in his chest. He stood in what he knew was triumph, and he might have smiled, but in that moment, he thought of his failure.

In his mind, he saw the beam of blaster fire coming for him, and he saw an aqua-hued blade almost too slow to catch them. But what eluded him was _why. _

He pulled himself back to reality. Starkiller looked at the weapon handle in his hand. Every time he did he felt a small pang of regret in his heart as he knew he would never hold his old lightsaber—the skeletal-like weapon that he found himself taking apart and reconstructing in his meditation sessions—for it was lost to the infinite spectrum of stars that he himself almost had been. Starkiller had practiced for endless hours on the _Rouge Shadow _in hyperspace while everyone else slept, honing his mind and body with the saber, specifically its new crystal that he could to this very second, feel within the handle. Calling to him. But its voice belonged to another: A voice who spoke to him in the same place he'd found the focusing crystal.

But he had no living beings to train against onboard his ship, just PROXY and training drones programmed to fire high-powered stun bolts at him while changing the way it jerked through the air and shuffled the cycle and speed in which it fired to try and throw him off. He had thought he would be fine.

Now, he wasn't sure.

Starkiller turned, storing that line of thought away for when he had more time—preferably _after _he left this place, and gazed at the twin behemoth slabs of metal closed together with a thick veil of shadow draped over its bottom. Two identical gold statues of robed figures stood facing each other, just as tall as the doors between them, with their faces hidden behind drawn hoods and both frozen in the pose of reaching into their cloaks to draw a weapon to battle, only to never to raise a blade. Deep in the back of his mind, Starkiller found himself sympathizing with that, but it was buried quickly and he moved on.

He clipped his lightsaber back to his belt. Then, extending his hand out like he was offering it to someone to dance, he grasped the right door with the Force and pulled.

The rust-engraved hinges fought the pull, but try as they might, it could not sustain their hold and the door crept away from the other; the fingers of Starkiller's fingers slowly clenching into his palm. The door groaned under the strain. The bottom scraped against the walkway, leaving a scarred trail in the floor as it swung out. His fingers and thumb clasped into a fist and the door stopped against its robed figure with a hollow _clack._

Starkiller stared at the entrance, a tall doorway that lead to absolute darkness with the chilling suspicion that once he passed through, he would not come back.

He did not hesitate.

He did not even blink.

Starkiller stepped through.

The weak light from outside shone onto his back but left his face shrouded. He stopped after four steps and again, raised his hand, this time facing his palm behind him. That hand clenched into a fist and, with less strain this time, the door flew back and shut, enveloping him into complete blackness.

It wasn't simple darkness at first, no, this was different. This sparked feelings that most beings never got to experience: A deep, bleak dread like no other, that, coupled with the darkness, made you wonder if anything truly existed anymore. The world was closed off to you. The temperature dropped drastically. The hairs on your neck stand from it. Muscles tightened under your skin. Your throat felt like it was going to close. The air was chilling and harder to breath, though no mist came from his mouth when he was able, and what air was there passed by his feet, lifting the tails of his robes and seemingly call to him like a ghostly whisper that, though a soft sound, echoed through the chamber.

But to Starkiller, this was life.

_This _is how he's felt since departing Kashyyyk.

And this is how it feels while under Vader's heel.

His eyes soon adjusted and the world returned, if only a bit. It was still difficult to see in front of him, but Starkiller could make out the faint outline of the large yet utterly empty room he was in. And a second later, a small, but bright and welcoming speck materialized in the distance ahead of him—

(While below the level of consciousness in his mind, Starkiller longed for such a door that would let him escape his own darkness . . . )

-and Starkiller knew it would not be much longer to his goal.

He thought about using his lightsaber, but decided against it. The aqua light would almost certainly blind him to what little sight he had, including the speck. And both its light and musical hum would give him away.

And like outside, he decided that if others lied on the other side, he'd want to keep his presence a surprise. Because who doesn't like surprises?

He began walking across the long and open room, narrowing his thoughts on his goal; feeling it in the decaying temple like a heart beating within a withering corpse. He _would _find it, and, if need be, he would rip out the heart to get to the answers that lied with it.

The answers about his father.


	2. Chapter 2

The world exploded into luminous yellow light when the Apprentice stepped through the doorway. When the change became bearable to his eyes, Starkiller looked up, and wasn't sure of what exactly he'd walked into.

The walls of the open hall were ruined—particularly with two archways, each across from the other, being caved in and lost to rubble, and Starkiller wondered in that moment that if the walls gave and the hall collapsed if would he be able to catch it. He decided he'd rather not have to find out. But what lied ahead was his true problem—and it was a large on indeed.

Starkiller stared in fascination and bewilderment at the benevolent and slanted image of a goddess in flowing garb and hood encased in stone past the end of the hall, almost lying on her side in the chamber she had fallen into. Soft rays of light bathed her from above and particles of dust danced within. He should have been beholden to witness this, to gaze upon a beauty such as this, even if it was stone, but her beauty had all but vanished. Time had been the crippling factor, not the fall as he would have thought. Time had eroded her features beneath a billowing hood, until nothing was left but the ghost of a smile. Yet, in spite of this, Starkiller could still feel the reverence beneath the stone, and could only imagine what the Goddess once looked like. Six golden figures stood like guard along the center of the hall—not unlike the ones guarding the door, facing each other and mirroring the other's position; some with weapons, some not. There was even a path engraved in the floor between them starting at where Starkiller stood, guiding him toward the Goddess.

For the first time in any of his trips to this place, Starkiller felt a profound sense of reverence for what this Temple once was.

But there was a problem.

Unfortunately, the Goddess and her guardians stood in the way of his goal.

He had charted everything carefully. Before his first trip to the Jedi Temple, Starkiller had been given schematics and layouts by Vader, and though select portions were out of date and mentioned nothing of the Imperial's "modifications", they served him well enough. He understood that, if what he was looking for was still _there_, it would be positioned under the center of the Jedi Temple. But this was a blind spot in the map.

And Starkiller also knew that the Goddess, though a large roadblock, was not an immovable one. And he knew she was one he couldn't simply get around. Starkiller sighed, knowing what would become of the Goddess.

_Casualties, _he told himself, and started walking on the path.

The Apprentice stopped after the fourth step; his boot's squeak sending a ghostly echo through the chamber. A cold shiver prickled up his spine as danger sense called to him in the back of his mind like a hollow whisper. He scanned the hall, frozen. Nothing. Tentatively, he took a step back. Nothing. The guardians and the Goddess remained still, and the dust particles kept dancing. Starkiller began to doubt his senses, thinking perhaps something in the battle outside had tampered with them; and as he did, the voice continued to whisper, telling him softly: _it's not safe. _

He pushed the doubt away and his lightsaber flew from his belt and landed inverted in his hand. The bright blue blade sprang to life behind his back; its musical hum strong in his ears and reaching all corners of the hall.

Then, he caught a flicker of movement from the farthest row of guardian's from him.

The cold prickle knotted in his back. Gritting his teeth against it, Starkiller stretched his mind into the Force searching for a presence. But something was throwing him off; something pushing against his will and trying to scramble his senses, but he found a small flicker beside the other end of the chamber.

As soon as he found it the air around the farthest guardian statue on the left side stirred and twisted in on itself, swirling like a black hole and distorting the image of the Goddess within it. Starkiller's brow furrowed and the grip on his saber tightened as he watched the very center of the vortex open into a small portal of blackness, then the portal expanded out, forming a humanoid posture and shape. Then, little by little, as the darkness gave way while the air around it returned to normal, the details began to crystallize on the being: The pale blue armor plating; the black suite beneath them so tight Starkiller could see muscles bulge; the glow under the gloved hand and feet sticking them to the guardian; the blaster pointed at him with a small, almost unseen blood-red beam slowly moving across his chest; and the pale blue helmet in the shape of an enlarged human skull with thin metal cylinder's poking out the dark eye sockets. The same kind of red light shined in the cylinders.

Starkiller remained still. His face gave nothing away. But inside, he was struggling to keep his heart under control and breathe.

But before it could be, another vortex appeared on the statue opposite the first, and following suite, another pale-blue Skull Trooper appeared and another dot joined the other on his chest, dancing around his heart. Two vortex's appeared at once on the middle guardians, and as the troopers showed themselves, the last portals came on the sides of the twin statues closest to him. Starkiller waited, but no more came in front of him.

He regarded each of the troopers coldly, not budging. Not even shutting down his lightsaber. He was playing how this all would go down in his mind, step by sep, coordinating where he would go with this precious time they would sourly regret giving him. At the edge of his peripheral vision though, he saw more dots jump onto his chest, loosely forming a sheet of bright red. And again, Starkiller had to keep his heart rate under control, looking up without noticeably bending his neck.

His eyes went wide.

And his heart began to race.

Skull-Troopers hung on the curved ceiling of the hall like insects gathered around the corpse, suspended by their free hand and ends of their feet. Each had a blaster, leveled on him. And the amount of concentrated light emanating from the socket cylinder's and blaster's rivaled the sun outside when staring directly at it; the troopers acting more as shadowy being's lurking behind the hellfire of red.

The plan in his head vanished. He was counting on the half-second—no matter how good thy were—it took to pull the trigger to take them out. But he couldn't risk it with this many weapons trained on him. His gaze burned with the hate smoldering in his heart and hot air hissed through closed teeth.

_They got around me. I didn't even feel them arriving, _Then, added. _What is allowing them to do this?_

A clear bolt of lightning crackled through the hall and a final portal appeared on the other end between the guardian's, already in humanoid form and details formed as the phantom strode along the path. It was another Skull Trooper, but no cylinder's poked out and neither the twin blasters in the holsters on his side or the two strung together behind his back were in his hand. But as he grew closer, Starkiller saw the specks lurking behind the sockets. Two, dark stripes ran down the peak of his helmet and traveled down the plates to his feet. And on his left arm was the depiction of a dark, grotesque creature swiping its razor talons across a being's body, annihilating them.

Starkiller tore through the veil dampening his senses and reached out to the striped trooper. And what he felt was a swirling pool of festering hunger approaching him. His blood was rushing beneath that armor and pulse and heart thumping. From his aura, Starkiller was surprised at how controlled the being was. His strides gave no indication, save for the confidence that exuded from him, and his hands were like stone.

Starkiller risked a slight glance back, and the entrance never felt farther away.

The striped trooper stopped a few feet from the Apprentice. He wasn't a tall man, coming eye-level with Starkiller.

"Well, well," Stripes said, his voice sounding synthesized through the helmet's speaker. He said nothing more, just standing there, watching.

The silence pulled at Starkiller more then he cared to admit. His teeth remained bared, and he thought that now with a target so close, perhaps he could use Stripe's presence—or body, against the other's like a shield. His grip tightened and his lightsaber creaked behind him as he prepared.

Stripe's hands blurred and two blasters were in his hand. Blinding red light exploded in his vision and Starkiller tilted his head in recoil to get it out.

"Don't try it, Jedi." Stripes ordered. The cylinder's jumped out from the sockets, and after the eclipses of light faded from his sight, Starkiller obeyed, relaxing his grip and shutting his lightsaber down behind him.

There were other methods.

He brought his hand around, keeping the handle of his saber in sight. So long as Stripes believed he had his token prize, Starkiller still had leverage,, as, he had found out often through his own life: arrogance blinds the mind more so then the beam that flashed his eyes.

Stripes didn't try to snatch the lightsaber, instead remaining where he was, weapons still drawn.

"Put the energy saber on the ground," Starkiller complied, leaving it at his feet. He then reached into the Force and sent tendrils all around the ceiling, weaving past body's and bits of plat life in the cracks and found their places by the time Starkiller was upright. Behind the helmet, Stripes was probably smiling.

"Good." The blaster in his left hand blurred and was once again resting in its holster. He reached behind him and Starkiller heard something metal rustle. What he extracted were two steel rings connected by a short, energy cord. But what caught his eye were the glimmers flashing from within the rings.

Starkiller seized the tendrils, ensuring his hold. But he did not pull. Not yet.

Stripe's started toward Starkiller, keeping the blaster on him, and when he stopped only inches from the Apprentice, Starkiller flicked a glance down and saw what the glimmers were.

They were actually small sparks. And they leapt from the tips of stubby spikes scattered evenly throughout the inside of the rings. One by one, they flashed, like fireworks spread through the night sky.

_That's enough of that, _he thought. Then started slowly pulling the tendrils. There was resistance, but not enough to stop him.

He knew he would only get once chance at this, and his time would be short. And he knew that one mistake would mean death. But he was used to that. Vader's rule wasn't much different.

Starkiller stepped just barely to the right, putting Stripes in the line of fire. Stripes was trying to get the cuffs on him, saying something that Starkiller paid no attention to his words, instead focusing on the tendrils and calling on the Force to augment his body. Stripes examined Starkiller from top to bottom, asking if the Jedi misunderstood his orders—

And Starkiller yanked on the tendrils.

And Skull Troopers rained from the sky, screaming, with blocks of old stone still stuck to their hands and feet as they clattered loudly against the floor.

Starkiller could sense Stripes struggling not to turn, but reflex got the better of him and he did, leaving the Apprentice with only hesitation's time to take out the others.

He reached out in the Force and crushed the bases of the two stone guardians closest to him and sent it soaring back, smashing them and the troopers into the middle row with enough impact to knock those two loose, then slam the remaining row with force enough to send the cluster of golden stone and pale-blue plasteel careening into the relatively small space between the hall and the Goddess.

By this time, Stripes was whipping back around to Starkiller and some of the Troopers were beginning to recover. The lightsaber at his feet flared back to life and swept its bright aqua blade up, skewing through and leaving Stripe's blaster a worthless hunk of white-hot metal. It proceeded to pass between them and spun toward the Trooper's, staying low and searing the floor. And one by one, fires of life in the Force were blown out.

But Starkiller hadn't qualified Stripe's speed. The cuffs and ruined blaster were falling and the holstered blaster was already in his hand with his other reaching for another strapped across his back. A single shot spat out the barrel and Starkiller threw his head to the side and it whisked centimeters past his ear.

It was the only one he'd get.

Starkiller gathered the power of the Dark side into the palms of his fists until they burned and punched the center of Stripe's breastplate. A thousand cracks intersected each other under the force of his knuckles like webs and Stripes was sent careening back, his body a blur and hitting the brim of the Goddess's nose with a sickening _crack. _The blaster slipped from his grasp, and he remained upright for a moment, his other hand jammed behind him, until he fell forward and plunged into the crack, his remaining blasters tumbling out and following closely behind him.

Meanwhile, on the left side of the hall, the lightsaber was on its last stretch. It would not be stopped. _Could _not be stopped. The last life flickered out and the saber spun back around to the front and Starkiller caught the handle, shutting down the aqua blade and leaving the hall in mute silence.

And leaving Starkiller alone with the bodies.

Starkiller took a pause to catch his breath, letting the fire in his hands slowly burn away and leaving his palms aching. He clipped his lightsaber to his belt and started walking down the path, but stopped. He expanded his awareness to the bodies lying around him, feeling for any shred of life. But the call was not answered. Starkiller continued on through the rubble and death without breaking stride, until he reached the edge.

The walls of the chamber were forever scarred with the Goddess's fall, the hole in the corner massive and fitting to her shape. The chamber beyond it was bleak; a product of the final night of the Clone Wars and the demise of the Order brought to life by the luminescent auburn light shining through blackened transparisteel windows. Starkiller barely noticed. Now that he was closer to the Goddess, he could see that she _had _sustained some damage on her side from the fall, though most of it was shrouded by deep shadow. But that—and the small crack still fresh on her nose—were the only blemishes he found past the erosion. Closer, he could also peer past some of what the hood hid; small sections of undisturbed stone. Mostly strands of hair longer then his arm having slid from under the hood. The Goddess reminded him of Juno, he realized, only faded, like she was a specter haunting him. Like his father.

He forced down the thought and concentrated on his task. And with it came a growing sense of dread at what he would have to do. But it was unavoidable.

So he took one last, long look at the Goddess, then reached out to her—

And suddenly her face was replaced with a pale blue skull with twin strips running along its side.

Starkiller stepped back as Stripes rose up through the crack, his left arm dangling numbly and hand a crushed mess of tissue. The bottoms of his feet were glowing brightly against the broad shoulder-plates of a Jet Trooper, whose pack was quiet as it tried to haul the extra weight in its Silent Hover mode. The Trooper himself was trying to cope with it, looking like an animal trying to balance on a thin bed of ice. He fumbled for his hip, wrenching the blaster free of its holster. It's barrel trembled.

Starkiller just watched as the duo rose above the floor of the hall and stopped, hovering just beyond range of his lightsaber. His hands were still open.

Stripes, looking like a benevolent god standing atop his plasteel steed and cackling spitting from his helmet's speaker, pointed at Starkiller with his good hand.

"_Shoot 'em down, big boy!_" Stripes proclaimed. His voice was drenched in hate and excitement.

What Stripes didn't know was that the Jet Trooper was not as quick on the draw as he was, and in that critical second it took to level and aim the blaster, Starkiller already had him. He just didn't realize it.

A black, leather finger closed around the trigger.

The trigger bent and snapped off.

The Jet Trooper looked at his gun, head cocking slightly to the right, perplexed. Just then, he was yanked around by Starkiller, putting his and Stripe's backs to the Apprentice. Stripes struggled to keep upright.

Lightning cascaded in long, zigzagging arcs from his hands, and, guided by his will, each bolt found their way into the rather large bump between the trooper's shoulder blades, feeding up the steel shafts with small, blue flames sputtering out their ends. Those small flames erupted and the color changed from blue to searing red and shooting down, shaped like tentacles. the mechanics within the pack fried and bubbled and the pressure within emitted a high pitching whine. Starkiller clasped his hands into fist and the lightning ceased. In that instant, Stripes and the Jet Trooper shot up with enough torque to smash bone. They cleared the Goddess and one of the shafts melted under the strain, putting the two into a rising spiral, the pressure and whine growing steadily. Around and around they went, their circling growing wider in the chamber with Stripes screaming the whole way up as he tried to disengage himself from the trooper. But it was too late. A ball of bright flame swallowed them, leaving in its wake only smoke and bits of charred plasteel to rain down.

Starkiller's lip raised in satisfaction while watching the haze of smoke begin to evaporate. It wasn't a broad grin, but remained glued to his face.

Until he heard it. A small sound, muffled in the distance. It rose and fell, and sounded as if you were underground listening to a an assault tank pass above you. Then it ended, and he heard a faint static _click. _As soon as it did, though, another started, deeper, slower. And suddenly, he knew what he was hearing.

Voices.

Stormtroopers.

A second later, something above caught Starkiller's eye. He looked up, and through the thinning smoke cloud saw the tiny white figures standing in the end of a hall identical to his own.

He reached out into the spectrum of the Force, ripping through that veil like it never existed, and the chamber crystallized in his mind. He saw every knock and corner: every foot of stone: every bit of plant growing in the cracks. And he saw the two Trooper's like he had before; like little flames standing next to each other. He could feel their confusion and unease in the Force. They felt wound like a string being pulled in separate directions, on the verge of snapping. And he saw their fingers wrapped tightly around the triggers of their weapons, just waiting for the target.

And he saw dozens of them. Converging on this area.

Before he could make sense of it, sense came to him as he remembered the Jet Trooper outside, and the final word he bellowed before Starkiller cut him off.

_Backup. _

Starkiller wished he'd gotten to that Trooper sooner. But what was done could not be changed, and right now he needed to focus on adapting to this situation, not sulk about the past.

They hadn't seen him yet, otherwise there'd be a hailstorm of energy bolts coming his way. Good. Nimbly, he stepped back, keeping his upper body still so he wouldn't draw attention. He did this for two more steps, then was out of their line of sight beneath the hall's curved ceiling. Starkiller began reassessing his current predicament. It would not be long before they figured out where he was, through the location of the first call outside. And probably through the squad that lay dead under rubble also. He felt some of the Troopers determination, closing in from both the upper and lower levels. They would be there within minutes, if that.

Starkiller wondered if the secondary goal for the squad that, if they could not capture him, was to make him waste his time killing them. Otherwise they could have opened fire on him when he first stepped through the door and been done with him. But the Empire would want a live Jedi more then a _dead _Jedi. Because alive, they could serve. Dead, they could only rot. Even if it took a couple dozen bodies that were loyal to the Empire to do it. Little did they know he had been serving them, through Vader. It was that training that helped him grow into the being he was; helped him develop the immense power within, which he would use along with his Master's to overthrow the Emperor and his Empire.

But if he was captured, or even killed, the plan would fall apart.

He thought: _You won't let that happen, _But he wasn't sure it was his voice or Vader's.

Starkiller already knew what he was going to do, but when he looked back at the Goddess and imagined Juno, he hesitated. The little flames surrounding him grew closer, and he squashed the hesitation, and the image faded.

It was time to get to work.

Starkiller squared his footing and inhaled. Then, he extended his arms and reached out in his mind to the Goddess.

The man who looks like a Jedi is a speck in the massive chamber. Above and below him, white specks appear through the thick fog of shadow, hunting.

The man who serves Darth Vader had his hands out. His gaze narrows on the statue before him. Slowly, his fingers wrench into talons and his eyes close. His forehead furrows. And he reaches into the vast nebula of power he draws upon.

He is buffeted instantly. His eyes shoot open. All air was expelled from his lungs at once. The recoil is almost enough to throw him out of his stance. He holds it.

The statue remains still.

The boy regains his posture, baring his teeth as he squints his eyes shut, leaving just a sliver of sight. He inhaled through his nostrils. Then exhaled. His hands were open, facing the statue. Once more, he reached back into the spectrum and tried again.

This time, the colossal statue _moved. _

It's minute, and is barely noticeable. But that nudge happens again, again, and again, and evolves into a low ruble. That rumble grew. Dust is shaken off her crisp shoulders. The man's hands twist into tight talons. More white dots emerge from the blankets of shadow spread all across the chamber, some watching the divine statue, others doubling their efforts to find the cause. They will not make it in time.

The lines in the man's forehead grow deeper as his brow furrows and dampens with perspiration that shined. His talon-fingers start to close into his palm, and the statue lifted upward a few inches, then a few feet, and broke away from the wall and ground. Cracked, damaged, and forgotten stone on her shadowed under-half crumbled from their host and tumbles like raindrops into the abyss. The white dots now stand frozen, transfixed on this sight, weapons, and for some, the _mission_, now long lost in their minds.

The statue floats further up, her slanted form rising in the hole she created, and as her face passed the man's views, his hands clench into fists. She stops for a moment, hovering. Stone fills the hole and the hall is dark.

He griped his hands in tighter. His knuckles flared white under the pressure. The fists trembled slightly in the air. He drew a long breath and held it, then shifted his stance to accommodate for what was to happen. Slowly, the slits of his sights closed, and his body tensed.

For a second, there is silence.

Then his eyes shoot open, he exhales, and he throws his fists up like they were boulders, and the looming statue shot up the chamber, spinning on its side as it spirals up the hole it created. It cleared the hall, and leaves a thick sheet of pale-brown dust and dirt in its wake.

With the lower chasm empty, the blue light of his mission shines faintly through the dust.

He sees this.

The man doesn't hesitate.

He lowers his arms, unravels his hands, and charges full-force at the light.

Meanwhile, the top of the statue's head grazes against the wall and a chunk of her hood breaks of and falls. This skews it off its course.

The man reaches the edge and leaps toward the distant light with all he has. He passes over the area where troopers fell into the crevasse, and shoots into the dust cloud. Above, the massive statue reaches the end of the hole it created and—stuck in damp shadow for years—its lower half strikes hard against the top of it and shattered like fragile glass shattering against a freighter's hull. The hole is barely damaged. The statue tumbles and turns in the air. The head dips downward but at its velocity, it keeps climbing in spite of the loss, until it slams into the far, upper wall from where the man was and where some of the white dots were standing.

The impact rocks the chamber (behind the man, the walls of his hall give out and the room collapses), but the man is still inside the cloud, so he neither feels or sees this. The statue breaks off into three pieces, and together with the bits of loose and weakened rock, they begin to fall.

The man continues to shoot through the cloud, drawing closer to his target, and its details becoming clear. He saw the bright spot—possibly a symbol, within the center of a sky-colored doorway. He concentrates on the bright spot. The top of the cloud darkens with the falling shadows.

Above, the pieces clatter against each other and are knocked out of their alignment, bouncing and striking the chamber walls. White forms fall from the points they hit, screaming. They are two seconds away from slicing through the cloud.

The man clears through the thick of the cloud, now inside a small gap of sorts between the doorway and the cloud with only a thin layer of dust in the air. He can see the door perfectly. He also sees that whatever walkway was connecting the hall and this door was crushed with the statue's fall, and all that is left is two feet of twisted metal. And he cannot quite make it to the door. He hits the remnant of a walkway and clutches for something to grasp, and blood runs through his right palm as he clutches a jagged spiral of metal.

But the pieces reach him before he can do anything else.

The cloud is obliterated under the force of their arrival and the around walls vibrate with them. More blood flows free from the hand. The statue's faded face looms above, her hood scraping the wall, with a small crack at the brim of her nose aimed at him. The man hauls himself to the few feet of walkway that's left, putting him under a small archway, and slid his body as far from the edge as he could manage. The head reaches the archway and again the man was in darkness, save for the soft glow of the door, with stone passing at an alarming speed centimeters behind him. But it ends almost as soon as it started, and as light shined through, the man's lifted by the force of its departure and thrown through the doorway.

The field ripples softly like water, then is still, shimmering brightly within the chaos around it.

Laying on his back on cold stone, Starkiller couldn't believe how close that was.

His heart thumped loudly in his ears, but it was nowhere near enough to cover the sounds of destruction outside. Stone grated against the walls. The stone reached the bottom of the chasm and clasped together in a thunderous crash that was heard and felt everywhere in the Jedi Temple for over a minute without pause. Then the sound just . . . faded away. And soon, it was quiet.

And Starkiller just lied there, staring at the stone ceiling, just breathing, in and out, while he thought of what he just went through. The _thump-thump, thump-thump _that almost dominated his hearing eventually died like the crash did. He felt the warm searing in his right palm and tingling from the ends of his fingers. He did nothing to stop it. There wasn't much he could do anyway. He dose not know how to call on the Force to heal; only to inflict pain. So his body dose it for him and soon the blood thins down to a trickle and then stops altogether. But the pain and tingling remain. It's the farthest thing from his mind.

Starkiller knew that if he had been one second slow with his jump, if he spared a moment to even his footing or channel the Force into his feet, the Goddess would have got him and he'd be a smear on the side of her head.

The Apprentice sat himself up, favoring his left hand to do so, and looked back.

Seeing through this side of the doorway, there was no bright glimmer in the center and the image was blurred and tinted an aqua color that resembled the hue of his lightsaber. Unfortunately, there was nothing of the Goddess to see; only dark, fragmented shadows that only went half-way up the transparent entrance. The one that he could see the best was a silhouette in the shape of her hood, and Starkiller wondered if she was looking at him through the field as he was looking at her. He supposed it didn't matter. Unless he came to a dead-end, he was sure he wouldn't pass through this door again.

Where could he go if he did?

_Nowhere, _he told himself. _but forward._

Starkiller looked away from the door and managed to get himself to his feet. His white robes were coated with a thin layer of light-brown dust and he brushed as much of it as he could, but realized he wouldn't get it all. After patting off enough to create his own cloud, he looked up and found himself staring at what could only be described as an endless hallway.

The cold stone walls appeared to be undisturbed and even preserved. He could tell the supporting archways spread evenly down the hall were made of metal, and being the same color was the stone, blended flawlessly with it. These arches acted as beacons of sorts, until they, the walls, and even the air itself were swallowed by distant blackness.

He reached out into the Force, searching for something. But whatever was beyond the veil was masked to his perceptions; a dull-grey haze that he could not break through.

But as he gave up his search, a weak but familiar voice called to him through the haze: _I'm sorry. _

It was his father's voice.

And it cut deeper then any weapon could reach.

Then, a single bright spot flicked to life in the shadows. It was warm, and inviting. And yet, Starkiller hesitated to move. Besides the fact that the last time he saw something like that he ran into a squad of troopers bent on capturing him, there was something behind the warmth; a feeling of malice trying to conceal itself, a dark shadow behind the light, smiling as it beckoned you nearer.

But Starkiller had to go, no matter the threat. He would deal with it as it came, and once it came into the light and revealed itself, he would crush it. Just as he's done.

Hesitation bled out of his body and Starkiller opened his left hand and his lightsaber flew from his belt and slapped into his palm, thumbing the activator stud and creating his own light. He wasn't sure what he was going to do about his other hand. It throbbed, and sent hot surges up his arm. But, like with the shadow, he'd find a way. Because he suspected that the worse, has yet to happen.

Starkiller started walking down the hall, not once taking his eyes off the bright spot.


	3. Chapter 3

After combing through cobwebs of darkness with the light of his lightsaber and the bright spot as his only guide, Starkiller stepped out of the hall and stopped in the wide archway (this one actually made of stone), and looked around at the chamber.

The room was contained, but a welcome change from the hall, spacing out in a wide and open circle. Even the ceiling felt higher, but was hidden behind a canopy of black in black. Small, glowing dots just a hair bigger then stars hung the darkness, casting a soft glow across the chamber. And spread evenly across were three statues, buried inside alcoves and shrouded in the harsh shadow of the archways. The musky tang in the air was palpable. Specks of dust hung high in the dark shroud of the stone ceiling, almost motionless in the air, but when he peered closer, But these things barely entered into his perception; all of his attention focused on what lie atop the large curved table pushed back from the center of the room and rooted to the floor, floating inches above the tabletop and slowly turning inside a clear transparisteel case.

The Holocron.

The cube shaped device appeared to be shut down but locked in a never-ending tumble. But at its core, a faint light blue glow remained.

In his mind, he reached out to it, prodding the device, but still couldn't break through the haze. He expanded his senses, scanning the room. Nothing. He could not find the shadow behind the light, but somehow, on a primal level of his perception, he knew it was there, lurking, watching, and waiting.

Starkiller stepped through the threshold and into the chamber, the lightsaber active behind his back, and suddenly the Holocron exploded into bright light. Starkiller jerked back, shielding his eyes with his cut hand. Air trickled in and out. The brightness intensified, and the Apprentice felt as if he were standing next to a sun going supernova. And it only grew brighter. He closed his eyes, but it did almost nothing. All he saw was light.

A few seconds later, the light flickered momentarily, and went out.

Starkiller opened his eyes, lowered his hand, and turned back around trying to catch his breath and fighting the uneasiness that had settled in his stomach. He looked up at the table.

The Holocron was tumbling faster now. He could almost hear it slicing the air in the case. And now its shape glowed a bright aqua not unlike his lightsaber. But he saw something squirming inside the cube; an ooze-like entity churning behind its walls.

He stared at it curiously as it stayed in the center of the Holocron. Then, hesitantly, he stepped toward it.

And stopped cold.

He didn't know how or why, but something had gotten past his defenses and slithered their way into his mind, like a greasy tentacle. He felt it searching, passing through his memories, inspecting each one and coming up short. The barrier's he had put up were knocked down like they never existed to begin with. And he stood, absolutely frozen, as the thing continued its search, helpless to stop it. All he could do was watch the Holocron. Eventually, it reached Kashyyyk; and soon, the hut he found.

Inside the case, the Holocron stopped tumbling.

The tentacle stopped at that memory and remained there for a moment, and then dissolved.

Starkiller exhaled the breath he didn't realize he was holding. Instinctively, the barrier's in his mind went back up, for what little they would do.

The Holocron started to turn, its bottom level with the table's top, never gaining or losing momentum. The top of the Holocron clicked down and slid into alignment with one of its walls. He inspected to see the ooze leap out of the exposed hole, but it didn't. Instead, a powerful beam emitted upward from the hole to the black ceiling. The dots too big to be stars moved out of conjunction with the beam, settling far out of its path. The beam expanded out, thinning as it did until it slowed and stopped in the space between the dots, and in its middle, was a bright being.

Starkiller watched in silence as the being grew within the parameters of the glow and took shape; details starting to form. But he knew who it was, it only took time for the image to crystallize to confirm it.

He wished he was wrong.

He wasn't.

The Apprentice looked up at the ghostly specter of his father, towering over him enough to put his head against the ceiling. He was in the same brown robes, but in the hut, it was like he was seeing his father's reflection, yet here he was almost transparent and glowing, like a hologram transmitting from a great distance. Without noticing he was doing it, Starkiller pressed the activator stud and the blue blade vanished behind him.

His father's stare was on him, and only him. And though his hood was drawn, Starkiller could see every inch of his father's face, and the neutral expression he wore. And Starkiller could only return the gaze with his own.

Two men.

Father and son.

One living, the other long dead.

They remained that way for a few minutes. Time was a spectrum that didn't matter here. Not to Starkiller, at least.

When his father broke the silence, his voice was heavy and carried further then the chamber could contain. _"My son."_

Starkiller was able to whisper: "Father,"

For a second, the phantom's expression faltered and a smile touched his lips. And like when he first saw his father, the image burned into his mind, but this time Starkiller welcomed it. But the smile faded as something dawned in the specter, and his eyebrows came closer in worry.

"_Why are you here?" _

Starkiller opened his mouth to explain, but no real words came. "I—" He was stuttering, and, chiding himself for it, he searched frivolously for the words, only to come up empty-handed.

The specter of his father waited.

He agonized during this silence, wanting anyway—_anything_—to say. He thought back to the days of traveling here, compiling all he could Finally, he came up with something. "After Kashyyyk," he began. "I was confused. I searched, but found nothing on you in the Empire's databases. Not a trace. The battle all those years ago is well-documented, but mentions nothing of a Jedi—"

"_Or a child," _His father said.

_Or a child, _he echoed in his mind before continuing. "I am unable to access Jedi technology as I once was," He struggled not to say _stolen _ Jedi technology. "So my searches lead me here, again." He watched his father.

All of that happened. Vader though he didn't know of the Jedi Holocrons he had stowed away, or the information taken from the archives from this Temple but he did. The battle of Kashyyyk _was _well documented. And he had searched through the databases available to him, and they made no mentions of a Jedi. His story made sense to him, and he had lied about nothing.

But he didn't believe it.

And neither did the specter.

His father stared at him, the words behind the stare saying: _I need the truth from you. _

But as Starkiller searched, digging through his memories and trying to compose his thoughts, he found no other answer; his mind just feeding him what he stated before. Like a damaged holo-message that kept replaying its contents. He set his jaw in silence. Starkiller knew there had to be an answer, but it eluded him as the tentacle had slipped by him. It loomed just beyond his reach, egging him closer in what he knew to be a facade, as it just inched further away from him when he did. Anger swelled inside him like molten embers, threatening to ignite. Starkiller breathed slowly, trying to calm his mind, but it backfired, and seemed to only fan the flame.

His cut hand twisted into a tight fist and shook slightly. The wound opened and dark trails of blood dribbled between his fingers. This was wrong. He shouldn't have come. He should have stayed on course with his mission. Maybe there was another way out of here—

Below the level of consciousness, he heard a voice; his father's. But the specter wasn't speaking. It came from the before Vader, when life was so full and he was truly happy, and though the voice was distant, he heard it perfectly:

_It's alright. Let go. _

And with those simple words, the layers of denial Starkiller had built up unfolded like a blooming lotus, exposing the very core of his being to the universe. And what came from within shocked him. He saw not a being who could annihilate almost anything with a thought; not someone who hid his true allegiance from his allies; not one who has fought and _defeated _some of the best warriors remaining the Force had to offer; and not the apprentice to a Sith Lord.

All he saw was a boy.

And a broken, pathetic excuse of a man.

His stomach knotted in disgust and from it, he fought the urge to vomit. But Starkiller wasn't wholly there right now. He stared emptily at the Holocron, then his father, eyes glassy with tears not far behind. He felt exposed. The chamber seemed to grow cold in seconds. The specter, during all this, remained still, waiting for an answer from his son.

When he finally got one, it came as a whisper so soft it almost went unheard: "I needed to know."

His father was still. Under normal circumstances, Starkiller would have welcomed the silence between them, to try and get himself under control. But, out and open as he was, those few seconds trudged agonizingly by while it was _his _turn to wait.

But wait he did.

That patience was rewarded.

"_You needed to know," _his father echoed the words as if he'd never heard them before. Then in the blink of the eye, all compassion and emotion purged from his father's face, replaced with apathy, and he narrowed on Starkiller, and his expression buried into the Apprentice.

He suddenly found himself wanting the silence again.

A voice spoke to him:

_You're weak. _

The voice was his father's, but the specter's lips hadn't moved, and this wasn't from the past. When it spoke, it was cold; heartless. It was as if someone—or some_thing_—was using his father as a vessel to communicate. It shoved Starkiller back into a realm where time and reality mattered, and the layers wrapped back around the boy as he scanned the room, unblinking. His finger hovered over the activator stud. He wondered if it was the shadow, but the Force told him nothing; he only saw a haze of static.

_You can't help yourself. You're nothing more then a child; a sewer-rat looking for answers. You stand and watch helplessly while the galaxy moves around you, unable to fend for yourself _

(distantly, he hears the wet _crunch _of a man's neck breaking)

_You are easily distracted. You falsely presume, as the overlooking of your mistakes during your tirade show. And when is all said and done, you will discover the truth._

_Mistakes? _Starkiller thought. His stomach churned unexpectedly to the thought. His eyes darted from one side of the chamber to the other, searching frantically now. The tip of his thumb grazed the stud, a milometer from pressing it. But the voice that was once his father continued before he could do anything about it.

_But the truth is, is that you _want _to remain ignorant. You _want _that veil cast over your eyes. But I will tear it away and expose the reality from which you so desperately hide from. _

Before Starkiller could object, the world seemed to be enveloped by light, as if a flash grenade had gone off in front of him. And suddenly, Starkiller was watching himself through a different pair of eyes fall into a large crevasse, swallowed by the deep shadow of the Jedi Temple. Then close in on a small target below.

_Tell me, why didn't you take out the squad there and then? You could have reached out and thrown them over the edge. Or destroyed the platform entirely. _

His father's voice was heavy, and laced with the timid pauses of grief. But the voice was grower higher in its pitch, and the hesitation had all but vanished.

Starkiller watched himself continue to fall and land silently in a group of Stormtroopers as he got the answer out. "I needed to slip in quietly—"

_LIAR! _ The voice reached a level on par with a Varactyl dragonmount's loudest yelp and an eccentric edge replaced grief in the words. _Every time you came here, it was by _force_, not deception! You went rampant; destroying any and all who stood even slightly in your path. Searching. Finding what you desired. What makes this any different?_

The world grew bright and Starkiller found himself watching himself at the edge of the platform, lightsaber in hand and deflecting as many bolts as he could.

_And what's the excuse about _this_? _

"I'm still not used to the saber—"

_BAH! You've got to be kidding! How love dose it _take _to get used to it then, boy? You've had the thing for months! You almost died here. Do you want that? Gunned down and plunge into a dark crack and never be seen again? _All presence of his father was gone now. And it felt as though speaking to a madman. _Not exactly a noble death, but a fitting one._

Another flash. Now Starkiller was walking into the hall of the Goddess, lightsaber on his belt.

_Oh, this should be good. Care to explain this little slip up, boy? Or are you finally _out _of excuses? _

"I—I" As he began to explain, one of the Skull Trooper's appeared on the other end of the hall. He watched as the others did the same, and saw the horde on the ceiling appear in mass. "They had stealth-field generator's. And they were carrying something that scrambled my senses. Some kind of mind neutralizer broadcasted through the air, maybe. If so, then it had to be something new. Or possibly—"

_Are you trying to convince yourself, or me? Because it's hard to figure out through all the babbling and excuses. _Starkiller heard the voice sigh. _I've had enough of this. I suppose, like a petulant that you pretend not to be, I'll just have to _tell _you what it was._

_You were afraid. _

No.

_And your fear cripples you. _

Impossible. Simply impossible. He has learned from the heel of Vader. He understands and has mastered techniques to take your fear and change it into hate to throw at your enemy's. Even as he thought this, Starkiller's face burned red and moisture came to his eyes, but he soon found that they were not tears born of anger.

_There are some things that can't be controlled, boy—like you—and sometimes fear—pure, unbridled fear, is one of them. _

He was about to retort, but as the words sank in, and in the pit of his stomach; at the core of his being where that broken man resided, he knew what the madman spoke was true. Vader had always reminded him of his lack of focus, and now, after watching the events unfold, he felt a deep dread as that lack of focus and inability to see the wider scope and the heart of his problems nearly got him killed. He couldn't speak. But he didn't have to. The madman had proved his point, and now he was gone.

Starkiller wasn't sure when he had returned to the chamber, or if he had ever truly left it at all. It was as if his mind had yet to catch up; standing in the same spot as he had been, staring blankly at nothing.

Meanwhile, the specter of his father looked at his son with a quiet solemn expression, while fear lingered just behind it. Starkiller blinked, and life returned to his eyes. He looked at the specter.

"Your fear brought you here, Galen, as your hunger drove you for all these years." The mention of that name—he one he'd learned on Kashyyyk—stirred the confusion about his name that he had buried down. He did not try to push it back down. He doubted he could anyway. "I never wanted this—_any _of it. I wanted us to live in peace. I wanted youto be safe. But those wishes died with me."

The Apprentice said nothing.

"Vader has twisted you into his puppet. And it aches my heart to see you like this. But perhaps that could end. Because Vader was right about one thing: You now control your own destiny. And though you seem set yourself on this course, I sense the doubt you hold toward Vader, and this path. The anger burns strong in you, my child, but I know you can still turn away."

His father's expression darkened. "But you must confront your fears, so you can let go of them. And for that, you must face the Jedi Trials." He paused. "I'm sorry, son."

Galen—_Starkiller_, he reminded himself_—_stepped closer. But when he did, the floor vanished from beneath him and he plunged into the field of utter blackness, screaming, watching his father shrink into the distance, then disappear.

Darkness closed in all around him; his mind, his heart. He grew cold. And as the world ceased to exist, the Apprentice found that his name was the farthest thing from his mind.

Galen came to slowly sometime after his fall. Drunkenly, he opened his eyes, but he couldn't focus. He tried to move, and bright of pain speared through his body. Air left his lungs as he landed hard on his stomach. He tried again and the same almost happened, but he was able to catch himself with his forearm. The pain, however, returned stronger then before. Working slowly, Galen got to his feet and began surveying his situation.

He first thought his vision was failing him—and a small part of him wished it _was_—but it wasn't and that he saw that he was standing in the center of a large stone platform that, though he could not see it, formed a perfect circle. A haze of black smoke half as tall as he surrounded the edge of the platform with a thinner bright mist within it, shifting with no breeze. It seemed to be trying to keep from slipping over the edge.

He craned his neck up. There was nothing above him. No speck of light in the distance; only an empty field of blackness. Galen looked around and saw four pillars around the platform, made of the same stone as the platform itself yet thicker in mass then the stone under his heel; each standing in its own corner several dozen feet away from the edge, though despite the distance, Galen had no doubt that the platform would crushed if they fell. The thought wanted to send a spark of fear through him, but he squashed the want before it could.

But looking at the pillars, something else sparked in his mind. Curiosity reached in and snared him with its talons, and he followed his intuition all the way to the edge of the platform, (the smoke and mist didn't so much as move when he walked into it) where he found not only another abyss below them, but also that nothing was holding these pillars in place. They were just floating in place.

Another spark almost ran through him, and this time he found it harder to force it down.

_Where am I? _He stepped back, stopping once he was outside the smoke. The bottom of it stretched out like little dark tendrils, reaching for his feet. He did not see this.

Nor did he see the shadowed figure standing on the other end of the platform.

And though he did not catch the soft rustling from across the platform as the figure reached down for something. But the thunderous _SNAP-HISS _got his attention.

Galen whipped around. His lightsaber was in his hand in an instant, the blue blade barely ignited before he was around.

Across from him, the smoke parted into a path as the shadowed figure walked through, with two long ends of cloth billowing from the ends of its arms. A brilliant green blade cut the shadows as they did this, yet he could not see the being's face as it was shrouded behind a large hood. All around him and the being, the white mist was glowing bright within the dark smoke. And as the being emerged from it, Galen began to make out the being's garments. Heavy layers of brown cloth overlapped white cloth that nestled atop what he guessed was already a considerable build. It appeared to be a bulky set of robes that could only slow him down, but looking at them, Galen doubted that was the case.

Because when one was dealing with a Jedi, appearances were often misleading.

The Jedi strode out of the smoke. Around them, the white mist calmed and withdrew back to its previous state as a sliver within the dark smoke, but still burned.

The robed being stopped beyond the smoke, just as Galen had done. When he did, two additional lightsaber handles, hanging from loop of cloth wrapped through his belt, clattered against each other.

"Who are you?" Galen breathed the question, but as he did, the Jedi lowered his head and the green blade shrank into its hilt. His hands went up and past his head, pushing the heavy hood back. He looked up.

The rest of Galen's breath escaped him, as he stared at the man who shared his face with an expression of utter disbelief locked on his own face.

Galen's body tensed, and his hand tightened until the lightsaber creaked under the pressure.

It wasn't exactly his face, but it was close, close enough to cause Galen's heart to almost stop in his chest. The being appeared to be a bit older, with dark specks of stubble around his chin and a long, grated scar along his cheek. And yet in the Force, he radiated a sense of confidence and serenity that astounded the Apprentice as he stood, unblinking.

His mind was spinning furiously as he wondered what he had fallen into. He slowly stepped back into the smoke. Disorientation and queasy uneasiness lurked close by, like predators stalking prey under the canopy of night in the jungle, and he struggled to keep them there. But it was a fight he was losing.

The Jedi saw this, and apparently unfazed by Galen, smiled warmly. "Hello," the doppelganger said. The voice was the same, but he spoke with more authority and strength then Galen, as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders and nestled onto Galen's instead. "Do you need help?"

With an effort, Galen forced himself out of his stupor, concentrating on the Jedi while squaring his shrouded feet. He brought his blue blade to the forefront and a twitch from the Force inverted it in his left palm. His right arm was at his side, hand open, ready, waiting. The cut was gone. He projected a sense of shock and shaky awareness, finding it quite simple, while focusing on his hand. Minute sparks jumped from his open fingers.

The doppelganger's caught this, eyes flicking down to it, then ran back up Galen's body, studying him. The emerald blade sprang back to life and he spun it around him quicker then Galen could follow and stopped horizontally in a one-handed grip inches his head and the Apprentice found himself staring it's tip as it danced slightly in the air. Behind it, in the glow of the green blade, the Jedi was still smiling.

The Apprentice recognized the stance and what it entailed, but remained still. He wanted to see what this imposter would do.

Seconds whisked by. Then minutes. Galen finally gave up counting after the twenty-minute mark and allowed time to pass them; all while the two stood like statues across from each other, the hum of their sabers droning deeper and deeper into the empty realm.

_He's not going to budge, _Galen suspected. _Unless I make him._

With that, he threw himself at the doppelganger with the speed of a bullet, bright blue blade poised to strike. The Jedi swung one leg back and spun in place, angling his lightsaber downward and keeping it close. Sky blue connected with jungle green for the span of a heartbeat. And Galen saw that he had poured too much into his jump, stumbling one step past the Jedi. He turned—

And white-hot pain shot into his left shoulder and Galen screamed, then collapsed in a heap. His lightsaber slipped from his grasp and the hilt bounced against stone, but he forced himself through the pain and thrusted his hand out toward it. The weapon froze in the air and flew back to him, smacking upright into Galen's hand and sending a wave of bright pain up his arm and to the shoulder.

Galen struggled through it and rolled himself around, being mindful of his shoulder, and swung the lightsaber in a wild arc before he could even see his enemy.

It found only air.

The Jedi was at least five paces back, now with both hands on his lightsaber. He stood frozen in place for a moment, blade away from his body and tipped down where Galen's shoulder was. Then he snapped the saber around and mirrored his previous stance flawlessly.

Slowly and carefully, Galen got back to his feet, keeping his saber out and pointed at the Jedi. His hand was shaking. Another twitch of the Force, and the saber reversed itself, and another, smaller wave of pain shot through him. He was panting, and the sweat glazed across his forehead shined in the pale light coming from nowhere.

"Care to surrender?" The Jedi asked lightheartedly. Galen barely heard it through the pain.

He scolded his impatience under his breath with a swear. Galen was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his composure. His back seared and the air reeked of spoiled meat. His vision blurred and body wavered; his lightsaber following in suite until he caught himself.

_Focus. _He blinked away the blurriness in his eyes and called on the Force to steady himself and calm the fire festering in his shoulder. Galen reassessed his situation, and what he found was not good.

His left arm had quieted down, but it was a temporary fix. Once they were at it again, he doubted he would be able to keep the pain under control. He could still use it for other methods of fighting, true enough, but it still left him at a disadvantage. And if he didn't figure out a way around it—or cripple his opponent to even the playing-field—he knew with grim certainty that his time would be short.

If Galen was going to act, it had to be _now. _

The Jedi, as if he had heard it spoken aloud, reached up and slipped his other hand around the back of his lightsaber's handle. The green blade was rock-steady. His smile was a ghost of what it was, and his stare was cold; measured. But the smile still lingered, however small.

Weary of this, Galen stepped once toward the Jedi. A second. Then a third. He was just beyond range of the green blade, yet close enough for it's glow to reach him. The blades burned only centimeters from each other, almost touching.

Galen lunged.

There was no finesse in it. His attacks were wide and probably in his Master's eye if he were here, clumsy, but he compensated for the faults with speed. He called on the Force to create that speed, tearing his attention from his shoulder and it felt like the wound had split open. But he was lost in the heat of battle by then. He was a blur, twisting and flipping through the air and striking erratically at anything exposed, only to be blocked at the last second. The air stank of ozone. Sparks fell to the stone in cascades.

Galen surrendered himself to the frenzy; the black fire of the dark side blazing in the pit of his stomach. His handicap become little more then a nuisance once he did. And the world became simple when he did this, becoming a scenario of Kill Or Be Killed, and nothing else. There was him, his lightsaber, and his opponent. This was why he loved it each time he surrendered to it, and why he dreaded the moment where he had to come out of it like he was floating to the surface of water.

But he had yet to land a single blow.

It was infuriating, that rage only added to his power. Galen was throwing himself everywhere, looking for an opening, but the Jedi had never moved from his spot. When Galen moved, he spun to meet him, lightsaber kept close to his body. The two long pieces of cloth whirled and snapped through the air when he blocked and the two extra lightsabers clattered between strikes. The Jedi expelled as little energy as possible. And throughout, he would sometimes fight with a one-handed grip, allowing him to maneuver quicker, or switch to a stronger, steadier two-handed grip. His style was simplistic, but extraordinarily effective and quietly graceful in its execution. For whereas Galen's breathing was growing heavy and labored, the Jedi's remained still. And while Galen's face was becoming feverishly red and salty drops of perspiration ran down his forehead and flicked off his brow or nose (though the searing in his shoulder helped this), the Jedi had yet to break a sweat.

Galen tried to switch tactics, coming at solely the Jedi's left flank, which he seemed to defend the least. But he seemed to notice this change and adapted accordingly, switching to a two-handed grip and catching and neutralizing his attack.

The Apprentice grit his teeth as this only fed the roaring fire of the dark. His eyes were wide and feral. In a blink, he flipped his lightsaber upright, side-stepped, and thrust the aqua blade at he Jedi's temporarily exposed side. But just as he had with Galen's first attempt at this, he spun, catching the blade with his own. Galen, by reflex, swung his lightsaber back as quickly as he could, knocking the green blade off its course from his right shoulder. He stopped just outside the blade's reach.

It was a deadly dance: a never-ending cycle. One that worked in his opponent's favor, and one that that no matter how hard he tried, Galen couldn't break.

He couldn't even get him to _move _from his _spot_.

Galen decided that was the first hurtle he needed to get over.

He charged at the Jedi, hacking and slashing his lightsaber like he was cutting through underbrush and with all the subtlety of an Apatrosian miner. the Jedi withstood it for over half a minute, his green blade a blur as his robed body spun like a twister behind the parries, but he could not stand it forever, so he was unearthed from his spot, stepping back as the bright aqua blade's tip whisked past where his neck was. Galen allowed a small smile, and pressed the attack. He didn't let the Jedi regain his footing, and as such, one step back became two, then three, and soon he abandoned his previous tactic and was in full retreat.

Galen noticed the Jedi was being careful to keep himself from getting too close to the edge; twisting both he and Galen away from the smoke and keeping them closer to the center. He didn't mind this. One hurtle had been passed, and the others would follow.

In his connection to the dark side he saw it all play out: he would keep the Jedi on the run. Then force him to move the lightsaber away from his body with attacks from every direction at once. He would tire quickly. His patience would ebb while the fire fueling Galen only intensified. And then, when this battle, and its participants reached the final standoff, where everything they had would be put out there, where it became not a matter of power or restraint, light or dark, but simply man-to-man, blade-to-blade, the Jedi would slip.

And in that crucial pause, no more then a nanosecond, Galen would end him.

He saw it so clearly.

Now they just needed to catch up.

Galen came at him low, flicking the sky-blue blade at his legs. And the conclusion of his vision drew nearer.

The jungle-green blade was there to intercept his sky blue one, but when they met, the force of Galen's strike caused the blades to push a centimeter closer toward the Jedi. The history was etched in his trousers and side with a multitude of small, sizzled bits of black cloth.

Soon, he would adopt his style to angle his lightsaber further from his body.

This was going to end sooner then he thought.

Galen kept his attacks coming fast and strong. Sweat now glazed the Jedi's face. And bit by bit, the emerald lightsaber dipped further away. Galen's lip raised into something between a smile and a snarl and his eyes gleamed like a hungry predator's closing in as that final moment drew closer.

They kept up the dance for a few minutes but that time was lost to Galen in the glow and flash of their blades, as he focused on the moment. He felt and inkling through the Force, and knew that it had finally arrived.

Muscles practically burning beneath his skin, Galen swung his lightsaber in a savage arc, knocking the Jedi's lightsaber, with both the Jedi's hands wrapped around the hilt, to the side with almost enough force to tear it from his grasp, but stayed in his hands. It didn't matter. The Jedi was open. Galen gave himself to the dark side completely, welcoming its cold grip into his soul, and both mind and soul melded into the dark nebulae. Time in this realm slowed to a stall. Galen pitched his inverted lightsaber back with one leg at the same time and heaved the weapon forward with all he had, channeling his fury, his pain, and hate, into it, coming in higher then normal; the angling the burning sky blue tip for the blanket of calm and focus of his face that the other man wore.

Just as he saw.

In that moment, his worries and fears evaporated. His concern bled out of him.

Right now, his mission didn't matter—

His father didn't matter—

Vader didn't matter—

The agonizingly hot pain radiating through his shoulder didn't matter—

This clone didn't matter. Nor did this abstract realm.

The lightsaber he wielded was nothing. The clothes he wore were meaningless. And in the end, not even _he _mattered.

There was only this moment. And how it played out.

Galen closed the gap between them and blade continued downward, soon to close its own gap. He had milliseconds to enjoy this, to reflect on his victory, but they passed dreadfully quick. The Jedi's expression was even with serenity; not having been given the chance to react, and wouldn't.

The aqua glow was bright on his face as it was centimeters from the brim of his nose—

And the jungle green blade snapped between them in the very last instant it could, connecting with the blue and the beam of plasma whisked a hair short of the top of his head.

Galen stared, stunned.

_This isn't right. _

He drove the blade further down, but the Jedi did likewise, bringing his own into intercept Galen's, and the emitter's of their handles clattered together inches from the Jedi's forehead, which was drowned in a blend of green and sky blue. Galen couldn't make the green blade budge even a little, and their lightsabers continued to emit an overcharged crackle in their interlocked clash.

_This can't be right. _In his disbelief, Galen failed to notice that only one hand was wrapped around the Jedi lightsaber hilt. He never did. _It _can't—

The rest of the thought was lost in the bright flash of red that enveloped his vision when the Jedi's open hand struck his solar plexus with enough force to crumble a planet. His eyes bulged. Air escaped his lungs in a single breath and Galen was thrown back like a rag doll.

He spun uncontrollably and the world became a blur of mismatched color and he bounced off the surface of the platform like a skipping stone. Pain shot through him from different area's, but his train of thought was a jumped, spinning mess so he couldn't figure out where he struck. Galen bounced once more and tumbled over the edge of the platform, where he only saw black.

Panic clenched his heart like it was a fist and ripped him out of his stupor. His right hand still had his lightsaber—though how he managed to hold on to it was beyond him—so when his left grazed the worn edge of stone, he grasped it: a last, fleeting hope.

And his shoulder exploded into a pain so powerful, so absolute, that he could not bite down the agonized roar that passed through his lips and echoed throughout the eons of this realm.

Galen hung over the abyss with his legs and right arm limply swaying. His heart was racing was felt like a hundred beats faster, but he was finding it hard to draw air. He could feel the icy spike made of pain being driven into his left hand's palm, but his fingers were numb; he could only loosely tell they were gripping cold stone. Galen called on the Force to keep them strong, though he knew that would only last so long. He was still human, and the Force could only do so much. He tried not to look down. He fought every instinct and temptation to do so. But a part of him, the part that clung to any hope no matter how small, told him that there might be something down there this time. And _wanting_ that voice to be right, just this _once_, he looked.

The voice was wrong.

His extensive use of the dark side had left him feeling tired and weary, so as he stared right into the empty nebulae so immense it was beyond his comprehension, his panicking heart was filled with a terror he could not control. The bright aqua blade wavered above the abyss and its musical hum droned endlessly on.

He needed to get up. _Now._

There was only one problem with that:

The Jedi was at the edge.

Body shrouded by the smoke and sliver of light, the Jedi looked like a ghostly silhouette from one of his nightmares with his emerald saber burning through the smoke. His terror intensified. But the lightsaber wasn't raised to strike him down, or to stab it into his hand. It was at his side, almost casually. And though most of his face was hidden, Galen could easily make out that the doppelganger was looking at him.

He just stood there. Waiting.

Galen guessed he was just waiting for a reason to end it.

Gravity tugged at Galen's boots and his lightsaber's blade dipped a few centimeters. The cold, dense numbness was moving now, claiming his palm in its grasp and continuing down his outstretched arm. Dread settled into the pit of his stomach. He wasn't sure how long it would take to reach him, but it might not need to. His grip would probably betray him before it could.

He was alone with an enemy. Wounded. Teetering over the edge of utter blackness, with his hold on life slipping.

And he was scared out of his mind.

_Your fear cripples you . . . _

So like most creatures did in their moments of misery and despair, lost in the woods with no way out, Galen retreated back to the comfortable, the familiar: the dark.

A flash of enlightenment tore through the constructed veil of pain surrounding his mind and with the insight dawning on him, he stopped. Giving in to the dark got him here. His hate cast a haze across his mind, and caused him to overlook the one-handed grip.

So for now, he turned away from the black fire of the dark.

Right now, he needed to clever, not angry.

Unfortunately, he had no ideas and less options.

The Jedi was unmoving. But Galen knew without a lick of doubt that if he tried to leap up, the Jedi would carve him to ribbons before he could blink. His hand was entirely numb and soon so would his forearm. So the top of the platform lead only to death. And falling would lead to what he hoped would be a quick death.

He glanced down to the platform's underside. It was about as tall as Galen's forearm, and looked exactly like the topside. And like the pillars, nothing was holding it up. An idea sparked. He looked up at the Jedi, then back to the underbelly. It could work. But the pale stone was dense, possibly dense enough to resist his lightsaber. If that's the case . . .

_Then you're dead anyway. _Galen opened his right palm and his saber spun in place until the blade was upright. He would get only one shot. And he had to do it quick.

With the Force, he saw the Jedi's position from under the platform, and he memorized the spots like they were pinpricks on a screen.

He emptied his mind, clearing out his anger in hopes of not alerting the Jedi. The numbness in his arm and throbbing in his shoulder were lost and his expression was of calm as he stabbed the aqua blade into one of the pinpricks.

The Jedi howled and the Force swirling around him erupted into red waves of pain. Galen called on the Force to lift himself up, spinning over the Jedi's head. He saw the green blade move to intercept, but he caught it with his own before it could and struck down at the figure. The shadow crumpled. Ozone and spoiled meat were strong in the air as Galen turned and landed and took three steps back, snapping his lightsaber back to its inverted state and panting hard.

Microscopic hot stings tingled through his left arm hanging at his side as the numbness was slowly picked away. His shoulder ached horribly and with each ragged breath he drew, newfound pain splintered through his chest. Three of his ribs were fractured from the force of the Jedi's palm, and another was dangerously close to a break. But despite all this, he could not help but smile. He was, for the time being, alright.

The same could not be said for the Jedi.

His green lightsaber was gone and the doppelganger head was down and he was almost wholly in the smoke, which was starting to open up to reveal him; struggling to keep himself on one knee while pushing hard against his left arm with his now free hand. The more the smoke parted the more Galen saw. First was the diagonal cut starting only inches from his neck and going down his left shoulder, coming to a stop where his blade had in his ribcage just short of his side. It still burned white-hot and the cloth around the cut was blackened and charred. He grimly realized that the Jedi was keeping it from peeling away from the rest of his body. Once the smoke had cleared around him, Galen saw the neat little hole in the center of his worn leather boot that was sagging limply. He looked pathetic, like a wounded Womp Rat in a gutter, waiting to die. And a small part of Galen actually felt empathy for him.

Until he looked up.

And he saw the hate burning so profusely in his eyes. Hate directed at Galen.

The Apprentice fought the urge to flinch.

"So, this is how it ends?" The Jedi said, his voice was weak, barely a whisper. He seemed to say it to himself.

Shakily, he tried to stand, keeping weight off his bad foot. His balance was off though, and he stumbled back against his bad foot, crying out as he caught himself. The Jedi swayed drunkenly, still holding his arm. But he was able to keep his head steady enough to stare at Galen. The hate was still there, but it lurked behind a new emotion, one that caught Galen more off-guard then the hate did: Pity.

"Fine," he spat the word like it was a curse. "Your fear will destroy you."

He stumbled again, their eyes never separating, stopping a hair's breath from the edge. No more words were said. There was no need. Both men understood what was going to happen.

And it did. The Jedi's eyes rolled into his head as it lulled backward and his legs gave out, he over the edge without a sound.

It mirrored Shaak Ti's own demise, and like that day, Galen went for the Jedi, hand with the lightsaber outstretched but when he reached the end and peered over, he found nothing. No body. He looked around his feet as the smoke began to close in on itself. There was no sign of the lightsaber. No sign that he had even been there at all, save for the small, thumb-sized hole in the platform, which disappeared beneath the blanket of smoke.

Galen tapped the activator stud and the blue blade was swallowed into the handle. The realm was utterly devoid of sound. Save for Galen's ragged breathing. And the sigh he let out. But it was not of relief or joy. No. It was a sigh of pure _exhaustion. _ He got out of the smoke and he nearly collapsed there and then, but made it three more steps before sitting down and crossing his legs on the cold stone.

Physically: the inch-deep hole in his shoulder had cauterized and other then the icy sting that the air brought to it, the wound was healing, though it would take more then his body could give. Other then that: his arm was tingling madly, bruises covered his body and the ends of his left hand's fingers had been sliced from the rough texture of the stone.

Overall, a few days in a bacta tank and some rest.

Mentally: He is exhausted. His extraneous use of the dark side had left him feeling empty. The dull grey haze of fatigue settled around his mind. His eyelids are heavy, and his vision wavers. He needs to sleep, but knows he can't. He needs to escape this place and get back to the Jedi Temple. But after sitting down, Galen wasn't sure he could get back up; it was a battle of need and will.

He decided to compromise.

Galen blinked away the blur in his sight and activated his lightsaber once more and stared into the blade. It was something he'd grown accustomed to doing; an aid to help him into a meditation state. Its hum was strong and continuous, and soon it was all he heard. The beam of energy was infinite, like he was staring straight up a cloudless sky. With it brought memories and emotions. The breath taking hills and landscapes of Alderaan he'd gazed upon during a mission; the thrill of when he completed his lightsaber after days of failures; when he had stopped PROXY's first attempt to ambush him in the _Rouge Shadow_ . . .

By then, his eyes had closed and he was gone.

The smoke stirred unsettlingly and the sliver of light within glowed bright.

_The man who's true name was Galen Marek sat in the center of the universe, suspended between life and death; light and dark, allowing the flowing currents of the Force to pass through him. He feels the love, the anguish, joy and despair of millions spread out from planet to planet. Here, there was no social standing. There were no rulers, or underlings. They were all shadows of life in his vision. On a particular planet, where the mass of life could overshadow Tatooine's twin suns, he sees his friends and allies outside the temple on another level of sight, tucked away and sitting in the familiar yet completely alien frame of the Rouge Shadow. He feels their anxiety, waiting for him the call. Kota appeared to him like a white phantom. The general had somehow all but lost his connection to the Force after their battle that felt like eons ago. Juno showed up like a bright beacon in the gloom of it all, and her presence brought warmth to his heart. Her worry came off in waves, disrupting the light around her. And he constantly felt her reaching out to him, hoping he was alright, and fighting the urge to contact him. He was thankful for this. Thankful that somebody actually cared. To Galen, this was his one true solace. _

_The battle with the Jedi seemed like only a vague nightmare that teetered on the edge of the black hole of forgotten memories. Here, those matters only played a small part. But he was careful not to get lost, to be swept up by the currents passing him and never return to the galaxy. Which is why he kept a tether to the reality he had fallen into: his lightsaber. Or rather the crystal that lied within it and the faint imprint of his father that he felt on its surface. _

_But for now, while both his mind and muscle were being rejuvenated, he would enjoy it. _

_Because it was about to end. _

_The currents began to slow. The air grew thick. And the beacon of Juno, the ghost of Kota, and every shadow of life in the universe faded. Galen reached out to Juno with his mind, but when he did, her blue light winked out of the spectrum like it never existed. Kota's followed. And he watched as all the shadows blended into the background of the universe, until he was alone. _

_Completely, and utterly alone. _

_An icy chill seeps through his skin and deep into muscle and bone. And soon, even the planets bleed out into the space between stars. Distantly, he hears a cackling sound, but it is far, possibly in another galaxy all together. The currents pick back up, and he is taken with it. It builds speed frighteningly quick and within seconds he is passing through sectors once filled with billions of life's in a flash of light faster then the speed of sound. And he has no control over where he goes. _

_The voice grows in strength and volume. The cackling becomes laughing. And it dose not take him long to recognize it as the voice that used his father as a vessel to speak to him. But this time, he says nothing. Only laughter. _

_Ahead is a massive black hole that stands at the edge of space and time itself. He can feel the laughter resonating from it. He headed straight into it without pause—_

Galen was brought out of it by a sound so powerful, so absolute, that it would have obliterated any normal being's eardrums into shreds:

_SNAP-HIS!_

He was on his feet in an instant, his lightsaber finding his palm and the aqua blade flaring to life, casting its glow across his calm, controlled expression.

Across from Galen, a slender shadowy being stood shrouded in the smoke, a blade of scarlet energy burning behind its back like fire. It radiated with a darkness so immense Galen thought he was staring into the black hole again. It emitted a sound like a Reek's low-rumble growl before charging blended with a dying man's final wheeze of warm breath against a mask of some kind; crackling through a speaker not unlike a Stormtrooper's. It came and went continuously.

_It's breathing, _Galen had heard Vader's own regulated breathing enough to not be caught off guard by this one's, but this being's was different.

The being, narrowed on Galen, started walking out of the shadow.

It sounded as if it was only meant to _amplify _the being's sickly rasps rather then contain them. Galen didn't have time to figure it out though, as the being emerged from the smoke and details crystallized.

The being was humanoid and male, but he could see little more then this. He stood about as tall of Galen, maybe a few centimeter's shorter, give or take, with the same build. But that was with dark, thick padding strapped around his torso with four rows of angular steel plates twisting upward toward his neck like an exposed, metallic ribcage. Galen could only image what frail being lie beneath. His arms were torn in some area's, with smaller plates welded to the sickly, decayed grey flesh on his right upper arm. And through those tears he could see the metal grafted painfully onto sections of his skeleton. He wore black trousers that were made for a larger man, and they hung tattered around his legs and especially around his boots; held up by a series of eight or so leather belts crisscrossing around his waist-line.

And on each of those belts rested a lightsaber.

But all of this was dwarfed by helmet. The helmet that looked too skinny to fit a human head into. The helmet with only a thin, T-shaped visor to look through. The helmet that only blocked most of his view of the wires and cords feeding from his back up to above his covered neck. And the helmet with two rows of metal blocks spread an inch apart with only black pained metal between them; like a sideways mouth threatening to clamp around your throat.

The being stopped and behind him, the smoke slowed and quieted down.

_The Shadow behind the light, _he realized in a flash of insight. Galen stared at him from behind his blade, stone-faced. They were in the exact positions as Galen and the Jedi, only now the sides were reversed. There was no telling what this thing was or what atrocity's it had survived. Or committed. But it would end here. Galen's body had somewhat rejuvenated from his battle (his shoulder hadn't even flared up yet), and he was ready for another. But he had to be careful. Last time he ran it without thinking, he ended up with a hole in his shoulder.

_Slowly . . . _

Galen side-stepped, and the being did the same. They were perfect mirror images, circling one another and closing the gap between them bit by bit, until they were both a few feet out of range. For a second, they stood, frozen; staring; gathering energy.

And they leapt, meeting in mid-air.

Their blade's crackled loudly enough to send echoes into the void and vibrations in the platform beneath them. Invisible energy fought and clashed between them as the Force supported them in the air. Galen's world suddenly became a blur of red and blue, with flashes and sparks erupting close to his body and face. Both of them employed the unorthodox reverse grip, forcing them to be but inches apart. But what came from it was breathtaking to gaze upon; a deadly onslaught of stunning grace and channeled fury that almost no sentient in the galaxy could ever replicate.

If only there was someone there to see it all.

They started falling back to the platform. The being struck, but Galen caught it, using the moment to plat his feet on the metallic ribs, push against the frail body and back-flip through the air, landing in a crouch. The creature stumbled back when he landed, wheezing, but used the Force to catch himself from falling.

But it took him a critical half-second to do so; enough time for the Apprentice to dart across the platform to him and lay on the pressure. And without time needed to establish his footing, the creature could do only one thing: Fall back.

As he did Galen slowly submerged himself into the battle, letting the Force carry his blade. He saw the radical difference between this man and the Jedi: where the Jedi it seemed planned out his next parry or side-step two moves before it actually happen, this creature was Spur Of The Moment; changing stance, grip, and movement in a blink, leaving it impossible for Galen to find a pattern, but allowing him to better control the battle. And control it he did. The masked man was careful to keep himself from getting too close to the edge, as the Jedi had been, but it didn't matter. With every strike and flash of their blade's connecting, the creature grew a degree slower, and seemingly weaker as well; Galen having almost tore the lightsaber from the sick talons the man called hands more then once, and inch by inch, Galen's attacks got closer and closer to his body. If it continued at this rate, the battle would be over in under a minute. Tops.

This duel: Short and simple. Easy.

And that's what scared Galen.

Because the true battle had yet to begin.

A surge of Force energy gathered in the being, enough to make the hairs on the back of Galen's neck to stand upright, and the Apprentice threw up a shield around him just before the telekinetic burst was released. The shield took most of it, but he still staggered back a step: giving the creature the opportune moment to break this dance of theirs off and attack. They were wide and clumsy attempts that Galen, with only a small change in the grip of his lightsaber, was able to fend off without much trouble. Artificial sweat glazed his decayed arms and his breathing was heavy; wheezes coming in a continuous stream filtered through a speaker.

But that didn't stop him. With every wheeze there was an attack, sometimes two. But Galen saw that the red blade had stopped slowing and was actually _gaining _in its momentum. Galen knew what was happening: the creature was giving himself to the thrill of battle, and his anger and connection to the dark side was feeding the frenzy in this nearly uncontrollable, deadly loop. But he had only started. Red energy spat from all angles. Thinking he had played on longer enough with this, Galen waited until a chance could be given, and it wasn't long.

The creature swept his lightsaber out in a wide arc aimed from Galen's mid-section. But Galen drew himself back far enough to avoid it and stepped forward, leaving little space between them and he slashed his sky blue blade up, burning its tip centimeters through the inside of the helmet. From this close—and probably through the white-hot cut in the front—he heard the creature inhale, presumably to scream, but Galen spun and threw his boot between the ribcage and the creature was lifted off his feet, falling limply through the air and crashing in a heap inside the smoke. The sound it made on impact was satisfying to Galen's ears. He heard small rasps of breath past the hum of his blade, but no movement. The creature was on its last leg. He felt only small ripples in the Force. But these weren't ripples of life, but of warning.

It was too late.

Then, came the scream.

It was like an Acklay's cry intensified a thousand fold, and he was completely unready for it, his eardrums erupting in bright pain and he snapped his eyes shut in recoil of its sheer raw power and gripped the side of his head with his free hand, pressing his palm against his ear as it continued to buffet him. His stomach sunk and his hand shook; the lightsaber feeling impossibly heavy. The tails of his robes billowed harshly. His legs became rubber and he shuddered and fell to one knee. The sound intensified and the Apprentice's focus was scrambled, but he called on the Force for strength and pushed through the blinding haze enough to open his eyes to a thin squint.

The power came off in hot, dark waves that would turn the average being into a bubbly pile of flesh and bone. But in the Force, it was much worse. In the Force, he felt a burning hate so powerful, it was like the black hole he'd seen was now before him, and every shred of confidence and surety of his victory was ripped away in an instant. Never before had Galen felt so small, like he was a child, standing helplessly in fear as he could not stop what was coming.

Maybe he was.

The scream died to a murmur and died a second later. But the waves remained in the air.

Galen opened his eyes until they were wide and breathed slowly. The surface of his forehead glittered with sweat and the color had drained from his face. He heard little past the ring that had all but consumed his hearing. And almost all that he had gained through meditation was lost. His body was shuddering and even when he noticed it, he did nothing to try and stop it. The only silver lining was that the pain in his shoulder hadn't returned. But it was only a matter of time. Drearily, he got back to his feet, breathing harder.

A series of four small concentrated clicks came from the edge of the dimming whine in his ears, like someone had pulled a bunch of cords at once, followed by the pressurized sound of fire, or even air, similar to a Jet Trooper. Then something small shot out of the smoke as fast as a bullet and Galen moved to strike at it, but recognizing the shape of the helmet, stopped himself, instead watching it bounce off the platform once, twice, and then roll to a stop against his boot and gaze down at the jagged, still smoking cut on the front of the ruined visor.

His breathing slowed to a whisper.

And _all _the color drained from his face.

He tried to look up but found it utterly impossible. His head and neck trembled as they fought his stare locked on the helmet, but eventually he tore away from it and looked up to the spot where the creature had crashed. And what he saw dumbfounded him.

The smoke had turned black and began to spin all around the edge of the platform, gaining speed as two halves pushed against the sliver dividing them. The sliver glowed brighter then ever as it fought the pressure, but it wouldn't last. Galen watched it all play out: the smoke swirling like the blade of a bone-saw and grinding against the sliver, whittling it down bit by bit, Galen almost hearing a little scream from it as it thinned, and part of him reached out to it, wishing to help, but there was nothing that could be done. Darkness slowly engulfed around the sliver until it was but a glowing white strand of hair, as it remained for only a pause, no longer then a heartbeat, then winked out of existence.

_What have I done?_

Galen stared. It was all he could do. The swirling ring all around him slowed and began to fade. As it did, the shadow of the creature stood from the depths of the dwindling darkness like a bleak nightmare rising from the subconscious. He held no lightsaber, but something told Galen he no longer needed it. His head rolled in small circles and Galen was frozen in grim anticipation as the smoke let up and vanished.

_By the Force . . . _

Galen was taken back by the sight, but his limbs seemed locked in place and he stared at the unmasked man with open horror.

There wasn't a single hair left standing across the entire man's sickly grey skin—the same hue as an aged corpse, only now it seemed to glow in the light—and wide, manic eyes as black as night with golden pupils beating in their centers stared back at Galen. His ears were pushed unnaturally against the side of his head, Galen only catching brief glimpses of them as the creature lulled its head in a small circle. He wore a feral smile, like a hungry Nexu finding fresh meat, and behind the ugly gash on his lower lip was a series of black and golden broken remnants of what were once teeth, held by infected gums. And a three centimeter charred cut-mark still smoked from the end of his smashed-in nose.

But that wasn't the worst. Oh, no. The worst was that Galen was looking into a twisted mirror-image of himself.

There was little relation, though. The man's face had been pulverized time and time again. Bones were splintered, broken, reformed and crushed again; faint patches of paler skin showing where the scars once were across his face.

This was the face of nightmares.

Galen found it hard to breathe. He wanted to look away—look _anywhere _else then at the creature, but he couldn't. He willed his legs to move, but they stayed rooted to the spot. He searched in the Force for any hope, stretching his awareness as far as he could, hoping for even just a slight chance, maybe even feel Juno, but he could not tear through the darkness this creature brought. Galen felt he was trapped, and all the power in the Force wouldn't get him out of it.

The hideous man stared walking toward him, swaying slightly. His lightsaber rested on one of the belts. Galen stopped breathing altogether and stood on pins and needles, still unable to move or even raise his lightsaber which he had all but forgotten about. The weight of the previous battle was returning. He was cold, tired. His muscles throbbed in extended use and his body and soul ached from the extensive use of the dark side. He wasn't sure he could even stand for much longer, let alone fight.

_You _were _fighting, _he reminded himself. Not more then a few minutes ago he was going blade-to-blade with the creature. And was _winning. _Galen realized it was the creature and the waves he continued to emanate were reawakening all that his meditation had buried. So Galen reached down and found his center, and grasped it for strength. The pains and aches dulled, but it would have to be enough.

The man stopped just before the center of the platform and opened his mouth and spoke. But what came out was incomprehensible gibberish. Words were garbled out in the same voice that had spoken of his fear, and a lesser tone then of the scream. Galen wondered if this was some kind of trick, but peering closer he found that it wasn't and discovered why the man had to speak through his father. Behind the twin rows of jagged teeth, half the man's tongue was missing.

Galen saw this and, fighting the nausea bubbling in his stomach, managed to step back while the creature kept going on, because in the other universe bred from insanity that Galen guess this man had been in for quite some time now, he was speaking fine. Perfectly. It was the ignorant man before him who couldn't comprehend what he was saying. And Galen preferred to keep it that way.

Raw, nervous fear slithered through him and he used it to disentangle himself from the shroud the being had created around him. Clear of that, he blocked out the babbling and tried to come up with a plan.

He lost himself in the steady hum of his blade. Nothing else seemed to make sense.

But after nearly a full minute, nothing was coming to him.

Fear had gotten him out of the darkness but clouded his train of thought. He persisted, but his attempts were frivolous in the end. A red haze of anger spread around his mind, keeping him further from an answer. Then, distantly, he noticed that the arena was silent.

Galen brought his attention back to the creature, who had noticed he wasn't paying attention. He spat something resembling a question. But with no way to answer, Galen kept quiet. The creature waited.

_The Jedi barely even moved until I tried to attack, _Galen thought. _but this thing won't be the same. Maybe I can—_

The sickly man's expression darkened just as the Jedi's had. It was the only warning he had before he raised his right talon-like hand and blue/violet lightsaber shot from the sharp tips in zigzagging flurries.

_So much for that, _Galen heaved his lightsaber up. The lightning fed into the aqua blade like a magnet, but the force of it caused his saber to jerked closer to his body, barely stopping it inches from his chest and neck. The beam of plasma screeched loudly against the high amount of energy surging into it. Light from the lightning cast off the creature's face and the feral smile grew viciously wide. He raised his free talon-hand and lightning blasted out of it, joining the established stream and sending Galen sliding back, the bottoms of his boots scrapping against the stone.

He set his jaw and concentrated on the lightning. And instead of absorbing into the blade, the bolts stopped just millimeters from the beam and circled around the blade with interlocking zigzag spirals until lightning all but consumed it. Galen, seeing he was now almost to the end of the platform, spun, mentally holding the lightning in place as he broke away from the lightning-storm bombarding him and came to a stop a few feet from plunging into the abyss. Keeping his momentum, Galen completed his spin and cocked his arm back and seemingly chucked his weapon at the creature, but it remained in his hand. But it its place, the focused lightning blade spun toward the creature at twice the speed it came at him.

The sickly-looking man turned to it, sparks trickling from his extended hands, but the concentrated energy slammed into him and he was off his feet, flipping and stopping mid-air a few feet above the platform and hovering there. Galen's eye flicked to the creature's right hand, clenched tightly now and glowing slightly with the energy he'd sent back, and could only throw up a shield the instant the creature unleashed that energy in a bone-shattering telekinetic blast. The shield took the blunt of it, shredding to nothing. Galen's leg's buckled under the immense pressure. And around his spot, the surface of the stone blistered into a web of cracks that's reach met with the edge.

Galen saw this, and suddenly wasn't so sure about the platform anymore.

The Apprentice leapt and landed outside the cracks. He looked up, ready to throw another Force-shield if needed. But the creature's talons and his attention were focused upward, looking as though he was praying to some entity above him as he rose higher in the air. Power crackled strongly through the air, and eyeing this carefully, Galen pushed the activator stud and his bright aqua blade shrank into the handle and he clipped it onto his belt, something telling him that he wouldn't need it for this.

That power erupted into a hell storm of dark violet lightning unlike any Galen had ever seen. It arched wildly through the air, never coming close to Galen. The man then began to spin in place and the lightning formed downward fountain with the movement, sending a cascade of sparks to rain around the arena, but never coming too close to Galen, and closing around the creature's body like a cocoon and creating a large, dazzling yet frightening dark mushroom-shaped cloud of lightning that consumed the sky.

_Now _the true battle was starting.

Galen settled his shoulders and squared his feet, finding his center. Then, he closed his eyes, lowered his head, and waited.

It didn't take long.

The mushroom abruptly broke its mystifying form and long, forking arcs of lightning came at Galen from everywhere.

Galen didn't budge. Lightning cut the air between then in seconds, accelerating. Finally, Galen raised his arms out with open hands up to the never-ending nebulae and focused on the center of his palms until the spots burned. His skin tingled and itched as the wall of dark violet hate came bearing down on him.

But instead of ripping through him, the lightning peeled away only inches from his body and went for his extended hands. It fed into his hands in unbelievable amounts as it was now _he _who was in a cocoon of energy. His hands felt like they exploded, and his shoulder flared back to painful life. But he didn't let it distract him. He just endured, concentrating inward and focusing on one image: A person. The person who seemed to cause pain to run and scatter like insects to light. The one who had stuck by him for what felt like years now. And the one who could always dull the edge of his anger and warmed his heart: Juno. When he thought of her, time evaporated like his pain. She had found a way into his center, whether she knew it or not.

And he would have it no other way.

Distantly, he realized the lightning had stopped and slowly opened his eyes, serene, but focused. Galen didn't waste a moment. He drew one leg back to the edge and drew his tight fist fists close to his side. They gleamed brighter then his lightsaber and he narrowed his sight on the man. His body and mind seared with the radiant fire of an exploding star, but only for a moment. Galen called all the power he'd absorbed and threw it at the being.

The creature was hit with enough force to send him spinning through the sky at a spin-breaking speed that made the lightning blade look like a dead speeder. But he jerked his long arms out and the Force brought him to cold halt. His black eyes were wide, and he was still smiling.

Like all this was just a game.

Maybe it is, he thought.

The creature, now well away from the platform but facing it, began spinning his arms in wide circular motions in front of him, legs dangling numbly above nothing. Galen thought it looked like some kind of lost dance from another forgotten age. And though this thing's sanity had snapped long ago, Galen reached into the Force, but the Force gave him no answer. Nothing surged around. Danger sense was not prickling.

So he broke into a dead run toward him. He raised his right hand and his own lightning blasted from it. But as it grew close, the bolts hit air like a wall and fizzled into the air, leaving a thin contrail of smoke and the smell of ozone in its wake. The creature continued his dance.

Galen stopped. He shot another burst of lightning, and met with the same results. It seemed that the man had gotten a shield up this time.

But as he looked down at his hand, a deep shadow fell upon him and the platform.

The pillar came silently from behind, and the figure of Galen Marek saw its shadow just in time and darted out of the way as it slammed into the platform. It is thicker and denser, therefore, almost intact while it sliced through more then a third of the pale stone and tumbled down into the black and disappeared.

A fine layer of dust clouded the area where it struck. Most of it was little more then pebbles that rained down into the abyss. But the larger pieces that survived hovered in the air away from platform. Galen Marek looked awestruck on his hands and knee's, staring at the spot he was in that was now dust and air. The decayed and deformed man that once had Galen's face stopped his dance momentarily, the turned in place until he faced the other pillar farthest from him, across from the one he'd thrown. Then resumed his flailing. Marek, seeing this and recovered from his dive, turned, and extended both arms to this pillar, hands half-clenched as if he was trying to grasp it himself. The pillar that supported nothing and suspended over nothing trembled as two opposing forces tried to claim it. The tremble grew into a violent shake; neither side giving ground. But the pillar, thick as it may be, could not take it. So in the climax of this tug-and-pull of wills, the top ten feet of the pillar broke off like the end of a branch.

That was Galen's piece.

The sky was overshadowed by the rest of the pillar coming straight at him, little piece still hovering behind it. Marek had no time to look, or think, and jumped impossibly far to his right side a second before the pillar struck the center of the crippled platform, grinding most of it to a thick cloud of pale dust and scattering the surviving chunks away from Galen. The Apprentice was still in the air, but the few pieces of platform left over there were well beyond his jump, and he started to fall into the black.

Desperate, Marek reached his hand out to one of the chunks closest to him. That chunk of stone suddenly shot toward him, dipping down fast enough to him to grab it and stop his fall. He climbed on board and craned his neck up to see the creature past the faint shadows of the debris field in the cloud. The creature hadn't seen him fall, and now had his back to him, doing his little dance in front of the third pillar. Both pillars were now across from Marek, and he could see the lower half of the one the man was in front of and could see the other perfectly, since it was out of the cloud. Galen saw the pillar, and his eyes widened. Floating atop a piece almost too small to hold him, he reached his hand out to the cloud and another chunk of stone—this one much larger and probably capable of holding two people—broke through the cloud and guided by his hand, came to a rest halfway between him and the open pillar. He bent his knee's and against logic and gravity, landed squarely on the stone he had placed.

From this new angle, Marek could see the creature and the other pillar easily. Just now did the creature turn and notice the cloud and his dance stopped momentarily, jerking his head frantically to find Galen. Seeing that this window of ignorance would soon close, Galen turned to his pillar and reached out to it. His fingers twisted into tight claws and his eyes narrowed on the pillar as it shook in place.

Above, the creature caught sight of this and a second later found Marek. He smiled viscously. His black eyes went wide like a child's. The dance resumed and his pillar swung around him and turned in the air; its end aimed directly at Galen.

Galen didn't see this, still focused on the slab of stone before him. His brow furrowed and his head inclined to the side a bit, but his effort was rewarded when the pillar broke free of its invisible bonds.

The one above him shot at him like a missile.

Galen caught this in the corner of his eye, but there was no time to think about it. He swung his body around to it, keeping his arms out as he did, and his pillar leaned forward while he brought it around and launched it up at the other. They screeched toward each other only for an instant before their ends, though at askew angles, clashed. The air vibrated with the teeth-shattering power and sound of their impact. Pale dust blew out from their joining, but was not nearly as thick as the cloud in the center, instead a thin shimmering veil that made Galen and the creature mere silhouette's to one another. The ends pushed inward and crumbled and fused into one, long, mismatched stone pole as they burrowed into each other like a lover's embrace.

The creature's expression didn't falter.

And a sky blue blade came to life in the chaos of it.

Galen jumped from his jagged stone and hit the joined pillars running. He reached back and grabbed the make-shift platform with the Force and heaved it under him faster then his run, bringing it to a stop somewhere past the creature. The conjoined pillar lurched under his feet and started its slow decent into the abyss. Galen tried to bolster his sprint. He ran head-first into the veil of dust separating he and the creature, using the Force to keep it from stinging his eyes and keeping his sights on the shadowy figure beyond the dust.

He held no weapon.

Galen felt no inclination of power building in the Force.

He had a chance.

The Apprentice didn't wait to get through the shimmering pale field; he pounced through the field toward the creature.

But the deformed man was looking directly at him when he cleared the veil and reaching for one of the lightsabers on his waist line. A sickly talon wrapped around one and a scarlet blade spat from the handle. It surprised him how little that mattered. He'd come this far. And he would go farther still. He raised his blade high and struck. Sky met fire in a thunderous crackle, and Galen went past the creature called on the Force to carry him the rest of the way to the stone he'd sent over. He hit it with his good shoulder in a short roll and caught himself before he could go over.

But as he recovered, the creature landed solidly on the other end and the rock dipped somewhat and evened back out.

Galen turned, the light of his weapon reflected in the sweat on his face and shone softly off his dirt-stained robes. His breathing was slow and hard, overriding the sound of his lightsaber easily. He was beyond exhausted. His shoulder was nothing now. His body was about to give out; it was incredible he was still standing. His arms wanted to sag down and he wanted to collapse, to just let it be over, to let darkness just close around him as it had the edges of his sight and never have to look into the face of this repugnant _thing _again. It would be so simple. He just needed to close his eyes for an instant, or shift his weight back.

But he wasn't going to do that.

Because now he had a way out of here. He was standing on it.

There was only one thing stopping him.

The creature had not broken its viscous smile and the golden pupils beat hungrily in the centers of his black hole eyes.Nice one, that stare said, Galen guessing he mean the graveyard of stone floating around them. He said nothing. The creature took one hand off his saber and swung that hand toward the debris almost casually and the cloud in the middle was blown away and the rocks were pushed further away, far enough that it would take at least a second to reach them.

_No running, _Galen assumed he'd say.

Fine.

He snapped his lightsaber around to its inverted state and the blade burned centimeters from his body and eyes. The creature did the same.

For a moment, they just stood.

Then, they moved at the same time.

Their blade's meshed into a blur of raging red and blue fire, the whip crack and sparking of their contact appearing like a thousand celebratory fireworks being shot off at once; each flash happening quicker then the eye could catch before the next overrode it. Galen's world flashed with the colors of their blades more wholly then he thought possible. He gave himself to the battle, allowing the Force to guide his hand and steady his blade. There wasn't much else he could do. His arms felt like stone and his feet seemed to be rooted to the spot. But still, he pressed on. With everything he had. Because he now had something. Something that was so simple, yet profoundly powerful, something that wrenched him out of his anger; and something that he had but the creature didn't: purpose. Purpose to escape this prison. Purpose to see his friends again and continue his mission. And above all else: purpose to _live. _

And the only thing standing in his way was this monstrosity.

Galen caught glimpses of the creature between the glow and crackles of their lightsabers. It was still grinning, but the grin was dying. He could feel its strength begin to ebb. The black hole that he drew power from was closing, and it showed. The smile was soon a ghost of what it was, like it was now an unconscious gesture. His teeth were bared, but so were Galen's. Sweat laced his bald skin. And at times his parries and strikes were sluggish, almost a second slow. Soon, he gave up on the unortadox grip and slipped both his talons around the lightsaber handle desperately as he fended off Galen's attacks and retaliated with some of his own. So, this thing was not all powerful. It has its limits.

But so did Galen.

The Apprentice knew it was the exertion that was the culprit; for all its power, the dark side was difficult to sustain continuously. The body and soul could not take it, and needed to rest. He strongly believed that that was what had helped the decrepitating of the creature, as the dark side had aged the Emperor Unfortunately, he was only in the beginning stages of it. Galen felt like he'd been fighting for weeks without break. And the lack of space left him vulnerable if he let his guard down for even a second. He wasn't sure even the Force could sustain him for long. But he still had a secret weapon, lurking outside the debris, waiting.

For now, though, they were at an impasse. But one way or another, that would change very soon.

So Galen put everything on the line. He held nothing back. He poured his heart, his very essence into his attacks. This was going to be the last time they fought, he would see to that.

His shining blue blade was everywhere at once, thrusting, striking and beating down the creature a dozen times in a blink. He sunk deeper into the Force, into his center, and the other was soon struggling not to go over the edge just behind him and plummet endlessly. But then, the creature let out a cackling cry that was almost a laugh, and the black hole expanded momentarily and suddenly, as offense became defense in an instant, it was Galen giving what little ground he could, beating back the scarlet fire raining down on him. He thought about unleashed what he'd kept hidden, but decided against it. It wasn't time for it yet. It would play its part.

Their blades flashed and Galen saw something in its light. He and the creature, at the end. It was exactly how he saw himself end the Jedi, only to end up teetering over the abyss. The flash of insight ended, and Galen returned his mind to the battle.

Galen and the creature reached the center of the stone and Galen stopped cold, giving no more ground. He was going to hold this spot, and hold it he did. The creature's breathing was quick and manic, like a Akk dog's labored breathing in the heat, only going twice as fast. But in spite of hammering his saber like a club at the Apprentice, despite the black hate burning strongly in him and his strikes, he could not get Galen to even budge. He stayed cemented to the spot. And soon, Galen met his onslaught with one of his own. He was at the core of his being now, the universe bleeding out of his perception like it was in his meditations: light and dark didn't matter. There was _him_ Who _he _was. And what he would do.

Two men. The same men.

Equal.

The stone shuddered under their power; strikes connecting between them, and in each flash, Galen saw the same vision of he and the creature. He felt a nudge from the Force—not much, but enough to make him pay more attention to the flashes rather then dismissing them due to his failure last time. Galen deflected two back-to-back thrusts from the creature's blade by spinning his own weapon in wide circles in front of him. Then, the creature came from high at an angle, and Galen caught this too. But this time, He pushed the blades against each other, and they angrily sizzled and crackled against the pressure. Galen fought against this, but the angle was what was throwing him off balance and threatened to knock him out of his spot. Galen struggled against it, but couldn't hold it, and he was rooted from the center and stumbled a half-step back. Still, the creature held the clash, but when Galen stumbled, he moved, throwing his right knee up and slamming it square into Galen's solar plexus. Galen's eyes went wide and his vision went bright red for a moment and the air left his lungs as he fell back again, stopping only a step away from the edge. He fell askew out of his center and his blade dipped down, leaving him open.

And the creature was on him, scarlet blade reversed and above his head, tip pointed at Galen's chest.

Time trickled to a stop.

_No._

Galen wouldn't let it happen like this. He'd seen the vision with clear eyes, unlike before where he saw only what he wanted to see, and this was not how it was to end. He wouldn't have it.

Not this time.

Galen found his center again and knew with stunning clarity that it was the same for the creature. He was simply seeing what he wanted, not what was to actually happen. Because the darkness blinds you. And panic left him, as he stepped back a single, fluid pace, putting him at the absolute edge, and watched as the scarlet fire burn through pale stone between his feet.

The creature's shock seeped through his manic expression.

Galen smiled at this as he slammed his own knee into the creature's face hard enough to re-open some splinters in the bone and haul him up, leaving the saber still active and lodged in the stone. The creature used the Force to catch himself and another lightsaber was in his talons in an instant, igniting in a two-handed grip above his scalp and his lip upraised in a snarl. But when he got up, his black eyes went wide, as Galen had already beat him to the point.

It was the Apprentice who was poised in front of the creature; a mirror-image of what had just transpired with the roles reversed. Galen's blue blade was angled downward and ready to strike. But unlike before, the creature could not step back; he was already at the edge. To both of them, Galen's lightsaber came down slowly, cutting through the air and sinking into the creature's upper torso, just above the metallic ribs, and produce through his lower back until the emitter stopped against the padding.

The creature's eyes remained wide as the pulsating golden pupils traced down his arms to the weapon, but it looked as though he had not yet grasped what had happened, like a Holonet viewer whose favorite hero just died without meaning. Soon, though, reasoning dawned on his face. His hands trembled, and the freshly-ignited lightsaber slipped through numb fingers and sputtered away as it disappeared into the abyss.

Galen watched him quietly, breathing hard. But inside, he was filled with the warmth of a knowing victory. It had happened as he had seen it, perfectly.

Perhaps the Force _was _on his side.

Now all that was left was to watch the creature's final moments, and then depart this place. Galen pulled his lightsaber—

But it didn't move a centimeter.

Galen looked at this and tried again. But the blade remained firmly lodged in the creature's chest cavity. Grim panic ran through him quicker then he could squash it as he intensified his grip and used the Force to augment his pull. Nothing. Not even an inch. The energy blade that could cut through almost every material or person in the galaxy was now cemented in a psychotic clone's chest.

Fear gleamed in his eye, and Galen heard a quiet, raspy croak that could have once been a laugh. He tore his gaze up and found the other man smiling satisfyingly at him, head tilted down and eyes narrowed on him. The look was enough to freeze him from reaching for the lightsaber's activator stud. Suddenly, the two talons came down and seized both his wrists, holding them in place. The hands were icy cold and were like claws in comparison the Galen's hands, the sharpened tips drawing blood that stained through his sleeves. Galen tried to tear the creature's grip, but his talons were strong and Galen didn't have the strength. He tried to reach for the stud with his finger, but it stayed just beyond his reach, teasing him almost by letting the very tip of his finger brush against its smooth, worn side.

_This can't be happening, _he thought, looking back up at the creature and his disturbing grin.

_I win, _is what the smile said.

Not a chance, Galen thought. But then, the creature shifted his weight and Galen planted his feet firmly and threw himself back against the opposing weight. His foot almost slipped, but with an effort, they both remained on the stone.

The creature's smile grew wider. Now it said: _Just let go and it'll all be over. _Serenity came across his face—of course doing nothing to hinder the smile—and the gold pupils rolled up and he closed his eyes softly and let his head roll back, adding more weight to fight against. Galen grit his teeth against it and felt himself skidding toward the fall. Hot anger seethed in him. Moisture beaded down his forehead, leaving icy trails in their wake while the number of Galen's options swindled and dwindled, until one remained.

So, he extended his will to the debris far beyond.

And the small, broken piece of the pillar he'd held on to shot out from beyond at the speed of a bullet, accelerating toward them. The creature's eyes snapped open and twisted around to it, and, recognizing that it would hit _him_, quickly released one hand off of Galen's wrist and reached out toward it.

This was his chance, and he took it.

Galen reached into the heart of the Force, allowing it to gather in his free hand until it burned like bright magma. He felt and heard everything. He felt Juno, far away. He felt the glimmers of shining life that, when put together, eclipsed the sun and stars of the galaxy that lied beyond this realm. And he took it all in. They filled his essence, his very soul. And with all this power, he stared into the black hole before him, wanting to swallow him into its cold grip, and threw that shining fist into the very heart of it.

Or, more specifically, the creature's stomach.

The metallic ribs flexed outward by it and his knuckles disintegrated the padding like it was nothing, plowing into the weak underbelly enough to shatter his real ribs. The creature's black eyes shot out and Galen was able to unclench his other hand just before the creature was blasted into the abyss with the lightsaber still lodged inside him, his latched on claw nearly taking Galen's hand with him. But in the last moment, he reached out to Galen. Power rippled in the Force, and Galen mustered all that he had left and threw up a shield around him. Whatever the creature did, it didn't break through the barrier, and Galen watched as he fell further into the abyss, and disappeared forever.

Galen stared blankly at the spot, waiting, inspecting the the creature to come out of the darkness with his lightsaber in his hand and cut him down. But nothing came. Finally, he allowed himself to relax, collapsing to the stone and letting himself breath easy for the first time since leaving Kashyyyk.

But something was wrong.

It prickled in the back of his mind; a voice trying to call through the static of exhaustion. He strained to hear it, but a heavy fog settled around his brain and the voice was lost in it. And, in his state, Galen didn't really care.

Until he remembered about another lightsaber.

The scarlet blade of fire that had tried to run through him. He remembered the sound it made as it plunged into stone. And the feel of bone crushed under his knee.

And he remembered that even after the creature had let go, the saber remained active.

Galen craned his neck slowly around. He thought that the lightsaber would have disappeared when the creature plunged, but his suspicions proved false.

No. It was actually, much, much worse.

The Apprentice saw that he was not what the creature was reaching out toward. It was the lightsaber. A white-hot, jagged line showed its course away from Galen and was still going, despite its owner being lost (if he truly was). The handle jostled against the stone uneasily, and stopped just short of a foot away from the edge and straight up. Galen's eye's widened and he reached for the lightsaber with a heavy arm and trembling hand, but it was too late. The hand grip fell backward into the crack it created. The emitter stopped against the surface, but the scarlet beam bubbled to the top, bathing the spot in a deep crimson light and the tip breached the surface.

Galen stopped. Icy fear had immobilized him.

The cut was enough to split the hovering stone down the middle. One end tumbled down while the other remained in the air. Galen went over the edge and tried to grasp the stone, but exhaustion settled upon him and he was a second too late. And Galen plummeted, hand still outstretched and screaming, until the abyss swallowed his voice.

Starkiller came to slowly, his eyes fluttering open and his vision blurred. He was lying on cold stone and his entire body ached with cold stiffness. The air was musky and stale, and before he blinked away the blurriness and got back to his feet, he knew he was back in the Holocron chamber.

His muscles came back to life with an electric jolt and his joined popped audibly out of their stiffness. His mind, however, was surrounded in fog and he looked around the chamber dreamily, as if in a trance. From what he could tell, nothing had changed. He stood in front of the massive and smoothly rounded table and behind it and in the side walls, the golden hooded figures stood in their alcoves, buried almost completely in shadow. And the Holocron floated within its case, eerily still and dark. He tried and weakly succeeded in reaching out to it, looking for any sign or imprint of his father as he would feel on the gem powering his lightsaber, but whatever bit of his presence was in the device had vanished entirely, leaving not even a trace.

But then he realized that there was no trace of him in the chamber. At all.

Starkiller looked down and saw his belt clip was empty. Also, a thin layer of dust and grime from sweat was down the front of his robes. He scanned the floor, but didn't find his lightsaber anywhere. He would have gotten down there to see under the table or walk around the table, but he stayed still, the Force telling him it wasn't there. And right now, that was enough.

Physically, he felt fine. His sleeve was stained with blood, but he felt no festering pain or burning patch of skin from a cut. He craned his neck back as far as he could and looked over his shoulder as best he could manage. The smoldered, black mark the size of his fist was there, but he felt frigid air pass through the hole and prickle against his unhurt and exposed back. But he felt he could only stand and stare blankly at the dead Holocron before him.

No, his problem was _mental_. Mentally, he was tired. He found it nearly impossible to cut through the haze around his mind and form a coherent thought. His soul felt like it had been hollowed out, leaving only an empty shell that he called a body. His hands trembled at his sides. And his stomach was queasy. Starkiller wanted to sit, to move around, to do _something_, but he just stood.

The chamber was suddenly deathly quiet. Like it was a sealed tomb.

Starkiller listened to the silence, unsure what to think about at this point. The fights with the creature and the Jedi were still fresh in his mind; he saw every strike, parry, lightning blast and the destroyed platform with absolute clarity, but it was like he was watching it on a viewscreen from a distance, the screen going further and further: a memory trying to bury itself. Starkiller was surprised with how accepting he was of that. In fact, part of him was happy to see it shrink into the distance.

But it would never be forgotten. He knew it, but that didn't mean he accepted it.

He doubted he ever would.

Then, something murmured from the silence.

It was weak and came from the background of consciousness; like a dying man's last, sickly breath of life, over and over again. Starkiller felt darkness form around him in the Force. A hungry, manic feeling that shot fear up his spine in tingling sensations and made him wish he had his lightsaber again.

The feeling of the creature. His fear.

Those weak breaths built up and soon they became a faint resemblance of laughter. Then a new sound entered into it. A soft clattering of metal and leather rolling against stone. Starkiller scanned the room as the sound grew closer, and suddenly he felt a hint of his father as his lightsaber rolled out of the thick black shroud of the alcove behind the table and the handle bumped against his boot and stopped. He looked down at it. He almost bent to pick it up, but instead called the weapon to his waiting hand. It floated weakly up, and when the handgrip grazed against his palm, Starkiller knew something was wrong. He brought the lightsaber up to the light—

And his body froze.

Four faintly engraved marks ran at an angle across the surface of the lightsaber.

Claw marks.

Starkiller's hand trembled slightly as he stared at it, waiting for them to disappear. They didn't. Upon a glance, you wouldn't really notice them, but Starkiller saw them so well they might has well been glowing. His heart rate spiked and he became a little paler. The deathly laughter quieted down but it went unnoticed to Starkiller. His breathing was thin and his eyes widened. This didn't seem possible. He wanted to refute it. He tried to blink it away, but the marks remained, and he could almost make out the points where the razor tips had cut deepest.

He didn't want this to be true, part of him would have preferred to have just lost the lightsaber then see this. Because if these were real, then the creature had to be as well. And that, he wouldn't accept. But the weapon felt tainted; the gem within shining brightly around a web of dark. He knew that he would see those marks for the rest of his life.

And that frightened him to his core.

As he turned the handle in his hand, a raspy, sickly, and entirely too familiar voice called out from within:

_You'll never escape me. _

Starkiller jumped, raised his lightsaber up but keeping it unlit and jerking around, but the chamber was empty save for him. He lowered the lightsaber and tried to get himself under control, inhaling slowly and exhaling through his nostrils. He closed his eyes and lowered his head, searching and finding his center. These worked, but only partially.

The creature had not used his father's voice this time, or whatever voice he had before having its tongue cut out.

It had been Starkiller's voice.

The Apprentice decided there and then it was time to leave.

He felt and inkling in the Force and opened his eyes and followed it to the alcove behind the table. The golden guardian was barely visible. Starkiller wondered if it was the creature doing this for a moment, urging him to the darkness so he could strike, but he felt no malicious intent from it so went around the edge of the table and stopped short of the shroud. He thumbed his lightsaber to life and blue light cut through the shadow and reflected harshly in the side of the statue and bathed the relatively thin space that he assumed wrapped all the way around the guardian.

Except for a sliver of space behind it that remained dark.

Starkiller started walking around to it, finding himself having to turn his body as the alcove grew smaller, keeping the lightsaber ahead of him and tightening his eyes onto the sliver. When he reached the small gap in the wall, Starkiller stuck his lightsaber through it and tried to peer past the glow, but could only see stairs beginning at opening. Starkiller paused before going in, glancing back the way he came. Without the glow of his saber, the shadows were thick and he could barely see through to the chamber. For a moment, he thought he saw him, a figure past the darkness; long arms at its side and pupils appearing in the darkness, beckoning him back. Back to continue their battle; to show him his fate behind a mask, like his dark master; and then, to tear him to shreds with his claws. But Starkiller blinked, and the figure was gone.

Starkiller doubted that. But nevertheless, he looked back to the burning blue blade, nimbly slid himself through the gap, and began walking up the stairs.

He kept his lightsaber in front of him while climbing. The stairs were winding up, but the steps weren't steep and the turning was barely noticeable. The walls were close and windowless, but he had enough room to keep from turning his body and climbing up them side-turned; his lightsaber a beacon in the dark.

More then once did Starkiller want to look behind him. He felt the creature inside him and could almost feel its cold talons wrapped around his shoulders and the warm breath against his ear as the creature whispered that he would fail. But he didn't let himself. And with each step he climbed, the more he felt the creature recede and fade below his subconscious. And the further he got, the more energy he felt seep back into him until soon, he was almost running up the stairwell.

Starkiller reached the end of it a few minutes later, coming to a stop in front of a thick stone door with no handles. He looked at the walls, but there was no keypad for it. Transferring the lightsaber to his other hand, Starkiller put his right shoulder against it, feeling the cold stone grate against his skin, he put all of his weight into it and pushed. He was surprised—shocked even—when it inched forward and a crack out outside light shined through. He peeled away from the door and looked through the crack.

He could tell he was not close to the chamber he'd left in ruin; instead having come across a wide hallway supported by three wide pillars with broken shelves and fallen consoles littering the floor. And it seemed that for every splinter of wood or cracked viewscreen, there was a Stormtrooper. Starkiller could only see a couple of them, the squeaks of their footsteps and armor clattering echoing off the walls with their fingers wrapped around the trigger of their blasters that they cradled against their chests, but he felt more of them outside his view. They had not noticed that a section of the wall between a pair of still upright consoles had moved or the faint blue glow in the crack.

Starkiller snatched his comnlink from his belt and thumbed it to life, but the walls blocked the signal from reaching his friends and static shrieked from the speaker. He sighed. Then clipped it back to his belt. He reached into the Force and went through its passing currents without the weight of profound fear on his shoulders, and found Juno easily, her presence a guiding light out of these shadows, and resolve to escape spilled uncontrollably into him.

The Apprentice pressed the palm of his free hand against the door and without much effort at all, the stone door blew open and crushed one of the consoles against the wall.

Every trooper turned. They saw a Jedi standing in a doorway that wasn't there a moment ago, his white robes dirty and stained, with a sky blue beam of burning energy behind his back.

Starkiller smiled. "Hello there," he said, then charged toward them to meet the folly of blasterfire, leaving the open doorway behind him.


End file.
